


Vantablack

by starkind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Breaking Up & Making Up, Crossing Timelines, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Denial of Feelings, Drama & Romance, Emotional Constipation, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Mild Smut, Natasha Feels, Natasha-centric, Pre-Avengers (2012), Rare Pairings, Secret Identity Fail, Swearing, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:46:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 43,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5495921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vantablack: The blackest substance known.<br/>When light strikes vantablack, it becomes trapped and, eventually, heat.<br/>But what is going to happen when black meets black?</p><p>... revised to add more Natasha + Bruce headcanon.<br/>(This is now their story on how to fall in love when you are planning to do anything but)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a ( v e r y belated, I'm sorry!) response to a prompt request given to me by DJosey13, who was kind enough to read some of my stuff, and then asked for something on the rare pairing of Bruce Wayne and Natasha Romanov. 
> 
> I figured why not give *another* Bruce a try; to see if these two somehow evoke some chemistry (and maaaybe make me forget about that canon ship AoU tried to force down our throats, ugh). Thus, this little fic was born. 
> 
> @ DJosey13: I know it neither has the fantastic armor, nor the epic fighting scenes you'd been looking forward to, but I hope you give this a shot nonetheless. Thanks for confiding in me & happy reading :-)

It had been a while since she had done a solo mission. Simple infiltration and assassination. Dr. Bogdan Reznik was her target, and Natasha had flown all the way to Monaco to take care of both. Red hair hidden underneath a blonde, shoulder-length wig, she gracefully made her way through the blue-carpeted, crowded Salle Blanche at the Casino Monte-Carlo.

The white walls were adorned with wooden ornaments, crème-colored drapes, and many paintings of the Belle Epoque. Soft, classical music played in the background as Natasha assessed the location and its dozen tables. Most of them provided options on Roulette or Black Jack games, and all of them were well-attended. She took a position at a table across from her target and feigned interest in the game.

No sooner than she had settled for a place to observe her target, she felt like she was being watched.

The instant their eyes met over the roulette table, she recognized him. He looked different from the pictures she had seen. His hair was longer, and he was sporting a well-groomed beard. She did not fail to notice the split second his eyes roamed over her body in the black, slinky gown before he, too, eyed Dr. Reznik through the many mirrors on the casino walls. His presence could only mean one thing. Her plan was endangered.

It was something Natasha was not willing to risk.  
  
She moved to the table Reznik played at, surrounded by three huge bodyguards, the small capsule hidden well inside the compartment of her crystal bracelet. Before she could reach her destination, the hem of her dress fell victim to a pair of shiny black dress shoes. While the movement was not enough to make her falter, the culprit steadied her by the elbow. Composed as always, Natasha looked into a pair of astute, hazel eyes.

The minuscule tilt of the head he gave was the result of perfect rehearsal, just like his pretended clumsiness. “My deepest apologies, Miss.” She responded with just as much dignified deception and raised a perfectly shaped brow in disdain. “You should have paid more attention.” He gave a small, suave smirk that was supposed to be contrite to the untrained eye of bystanders.

“Forgive me for being blinded by your beauty. Please allow me to make it up to you with a drink.” She curled her glossy red lips into a supercilious pout. Dr. Reznik was still playing Black Jack. “I don't drink with strangers.” His cool eyes fixated her. She did not flinch when his hand moved to clasp her fingers. “Crawford Malone.” The slightest tickle on her skin came from the way he brushed his lips against her knuckles.  
  
“With whom do have I the pleasure?”  
  
She mustered him with a calculating look before her expression morphed into a blank mask. “Natalia Shostakova.” His jaw flexed, once. Then his lips parted, to expose two perfect lines of white teeth. “May I?” The gallantly offered arm left her no choice but to accept his invitation. From the way she stayed close to his side, Natasha at least was able to make out no weapons whatsoever on his person.

She saved that bit of information while keeping an eye on her target as they stood at the mosaic bar. He then cleared his throat, trying to divert her attention. “I hope I am not overstepping any more boundaries.” His slight baritone held a tinge of flirtatious amusement while his eyes remained emotionless. “Seeing that a beautiful woman like you is certainly not without company.”

The only thing it elicited from her was a slow blink of her long lashes. With a bored smile, she put the glass of champagne he had obtained aside and grabbed her small clutch from the bar. "If you excuse me for a second.” Without waiting for a reply, Natasha turned and headed for the restrooms. She could feel his eyes on her until she had rounded the corner and disappeared into the ladies' room.

After making sure she was alone, she washed her hands, reapplied fresh lip gloss, and checked her watch. She should have gotten close to Reznik 15 minutes ago. Once she looked back up in the wall-size mirror, the same pair of hazel eyes stared back at her. Trained assassin that she was, Natasha moved into a flawless sequence of self-defense moves he warded off with ease and made her curse the confines of her skin-tight dress.

“This is unnecessary, Miss Shostakova.”  
  
With a propelling motion, he maneuvered her into one of the empty bathroom stalls and locked the door behind them. Natasha's leg went up to knee him in the groin, but he seemed to have anticipated her move and hooked a hand around her lower leg. It caused her back to hit the door with a low thud. “Or should I say Black Widow?” Using momentum and him as a lever, she jumped and rammed the heel of her stiletto into his shoe.

The split second he let go was enough for her to duck and spin away from his close proximity. She sneered at him. “Someone's been doing his homework.” Out of nowhere, his hand was like a vise around her wrist. He studied the glittering object around it. “5 mg of sodium fluoroacetate. Enough to be lethal as an oral dose.“ With a small tug, the bracelet came loose. “Reznik stays alive.”  
  
She scowled at him as he dumped the content of the small compartment into the toilet and flushed. “That is not up to you.” He leaned in so close that she caught a whiff of his sandalwood fragrance. “It is now. Stay out of this.” Before Natasha went into attack mode, he reached for the lock next to her and snapped it open. His shoes moved away on the marble tiles to disappear into nothingness soon after.

With a final look into the mirror on the other side of the wall, Natasha straightened her wig and left the restrooms as well. Dr. Bogdan Rezik was gone, once she returned to the casino. So was Crawford Malone, aka Bruce Wayne. Natasha Romanov gritted her teeth. Mission failed. For now. Time to restructure. Time for the Black Widow to weave her deadly net anew.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks @ Batsocks for brainstorming on Wayne's alias for me (and for admitting defeat on 'Bogdan' after all ;))


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive shout-out to Batsocks, without whom this chapter would still be a garbled mess!!! Seriously, we should switch places; you take the writing part, I'll get to be your muse and occasional beta... and stop growing gray hairs ;D

He hunkered in the shadows like a dark gargoyle. Reznik had retreated to his suite at the Hotel de Paris across the street. Bruce's eyes stayed fixated on the scene as he continued to listen in on the conversation inside. He had taken great pains in planting bugs all over Reznik's suite before renting himself a room at the Hermitage, 300 yards away.

So far, Reznik and his band of miscreants had talked about the type of drug their latest shipment would contain, but no details had come forth as to an arrival time and location. Cocaine and Meth were about to be dumped onto the streets of Gotham, and he needed to know when to stop it. From his perch, he saw Rezik collect a handful of documents from a silver briefcase.  
  
Eventually, he distributed them to his cohorts and placed the case out of his line of view, underneath the table. Bruce knew he needed to get his hands on that certain piece of luggage any which way. And soon. Just as he was about to move, the small transmitter in his ear began to rustle with static. A tap to the electronics brought no relief, and his eyes narrowed in irritation. Something was actively blocking his frequencies.  
  
He tapped again, only to take it out of his ear to inspect it.  
Not something. Rather someone.  
“Trouble hearing?”  
  
He did not give her the satisfaction of letting on she was one of the few who had been able to creep up on him. In slow motion, he rose to his feet and turned around. When they came face to face on the large, lithic rooftop veranda, Natasha Romanov stood in the doorway and pointed a gun at him. She had lost the wig, just like her previously long gown had lost several inches around her legs.  
  
It now gave her more flexibility, and him an unrestricted view on a pair of shapely thighs. Not that he paid too much attention, considering their situation. His mouth turned into an almost invisible, hard line. “I told you to stay out of this.” Despite not wearing armor, his voice turned gravelly and deep. She cracked a humorless smile.  
  
“I have trouble hearing, too, it seems.”  
  
The first exchange of hands-on combat went rather courteous, seeing that he avoided hitting her. Even though he managed to disarm her, and threw her slim PSS silent pistol into the nearby, private jacuzzi, Natasha made use of his misguided gentlemanly attitude to get in close. After gracing his right cheekbone with a well-placed martial arts jab, he pinned her to the wall, hands above her head.

“You're foiling my mission, Miss Romanov.”  
  
His eyes held a dangerous glint of disdain. Her brows knitted together in vexation. “You already foiled mine, Mister Wayne. Or do you prefer to go by the Dark Knight after sunset?” No visible emotion played on his even features. “No one dies tonight.” She raised her chin in a spiteful manner. “We'll see about that.” Wayne's eyes darted all over her face. Then his brows furrowed ever so slightly.  
  
“Reznik is a drug lord and part of a bigger picture. I need him alive.” Their faces were inches apart. For a moment, he focused on her lips as they twisted in scorn. “Reznik is Hydra. He needs to be eliminated.” The vengeance in her low voice was enough to make him blink and take his eyes off of her. “I cannot let you do this, Natasha. We both know why.”

Something in her body language then shifted, became more pliable. He eased his grip on her wrists. “We're not going to find common ground on this.” Her green eyes sized him up, alternating between his eyes and his mouth. Bruce allowed himself to swallow against the tiny lump in the back of his throat. “No, we're not.”  
  
When she leaned in to close the minuscule distance between them with a kiss, he let her.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one gets a little heady, so consider yourself warned..  
> Translations at the end.

A black dress lay on the floor, seemingly taken off in a rush. Black, shiny dress shoes, and pieces of a tux were dropped in an equally haphazard way from the hotel suite's patio door over to the master bedroom. A pair of stilettos stood in front of the bed; one still upright, the other toppled sideways. Moonlight shone on white sheets and red hair fanning out on a pillow.

Cool air from the open veranda made her milky skin erupt in goosebumps while her hands ran through thick, luscious hair. It was not gelled back anymore from her raking fingers. A dark head moved in between her thighs. The strong muscles in his upper back were moving under his skin as he reached up to grab her waist.  
  
Natasha's head was tilted back, teeth biting her lower lip as his tongue swirled around her center, pleasuring her up to the point where she muttered low, throaty obscenities in Russian. Bruce moved back up, kissing her inner thighs and hip bones, before dipping his tongue into her belly button. She arched into him as his hands found her pert breasts and shot him a hooded look.  
  
"Трахни меня жестко и хорошо."  
His mouth twisted in amusement before it was busy licking and sucking on her stiffened nipples.  
“c удовольствием.”

It was a combination of hearing him speak her language and, at the same time, thrust a blunt three fingers inside caused her to moan out louder than she wanted to. When she reopened her eyes, his chiseled features loomed above, still so very much in control that she decided to turn the tables. With an unforeseen agility, she wrapped her strong thighs around him and flipped them over.  
  
"Но на моих условиях."  
The fact that she used her mouth to roll down the condom caused his cock to twitch.  
"впечатляющий."

By now, his voice was definitely a little more than breathless. She took her time kissing and licking a trail back up his muscular body, nipping at the plethora of scars she found on the way. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him gripping the sheets tight. “Always so composed and stoic...” She spoke even as she slid her breasts up against his torso and positioned him at her entrance. “... but not tonight.”

He failed to hold a moan back when she took him in all at once and began to move her hips in a steady rhythm, grinding her pelvis deep against his. The fact that he knew and understood Russian made it even more appealing to lean over and whisper the most filthy things into his ear. It seemed to be doing the trick as his knuckles were turning white from the force he clutched onto the edge of the mattress.

His other hand steadied her hip as she continued to ride him hard and fast. Their harsh panting and the sound of the bed banging against the wall echoed through the night. He held onto the last bit of self-control and restraint until she came with a guttural moan. Natasha braced herself on his thighs as she rode her orgasm out, her fingernails digging deep into his flesh.

Through the haze and the rapture, she reached out with one hand to cup his balls. The strangled sound that escaped his throat was a mixture between a moan and a bitten back scream as he spent himself. As she opened her eyes to look down on her prey, Natasha took her time to analyze every detail in the dim light of the night: Mission accomplished. Bruce Wayne looked positively debauched.

His head was tilted back to expose a bobbing Adam's apple. His broad chest was covered with a slight sheen of perspiration, and he was heaving deep breaths. His fingers were only slowly beginning to loosen their deathly tight grip on her hipbone. That one would leave marks, Natasha was sure. When he had gathered his bearings enough to focus back on her, she noticed the bruise on his cheekbone that was beginning to form.

An eye for an eye, she inwardly mused.

After giving up her vantage point, she moved over to lay on her back next to him, pulling the covers up to her midriff. Neither of them made a move to go for emotional, embarrassing post-coital cuddling. Instead, Bruce Wayne turned his head on the pillow to face her. “By now Rezik is as good as gone.” His voice was already back at being composed, with a touch of reprimanding disappointment thrown in.

“There's always going to be another time.”  
She could not help but let a small smirk tug at the corners of her mouth as she moved to get up.  
He all but growled at her, even as his eyes followed her svelte, naked form getting dressed.  
  
“We might need to renegotiate on that one.”  
Natasha cast a final glance over to where he lay, blanket pooling in his lap and arms crossed behind his head.  
“I never negotiate, Mister Wayne. I merely reassess.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Трахни меня жестко и хорошо - Fuck me hard and good  
> c удовольствием - My pleasure  
> Но на моих условиях - But on my terms  
> впечатляющий - Impressive


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was not supposed to happen. I should be working on *insert long list of WIPs here*. Instead, these two would just not leave my thoughts alone for the past two days, so I had to get it out of my system.
> 
> @doominater84: Your last comment seems to have struck a nerve with me, so here I come offering some more BatWidow - less smut, more feelings. Albeit, uh... no... 'feelings' may not be the right term for the following chapter(s)...
> 
> Anyhow, to anyone interested in this rare pair, I hope this works *crosses fingers*

The third time they ran into each other, he wore Kevlar-lined Nomex and she wore skin-tight leather. Black Widow had been eager to volunteer when SHIELD had a mission in Gotham City to give away. Officially, she was trying to find out about potential Hydra connections to a man called Jack Napier. Unofficially, she was going to settle a personal score. After Monaco, said score had been the first point on her agenda.

Contrary to popular belief, Black Widow was not averse to combine business with pleasure. Business was finding and taking out Napier. Maybe a little interrogation to see if he knew anything Hydra-related. Pleasure was finding and taking out the Batman. Maybe a little bit of Mister & Mrs. Smith-like foreplay, but nothing more. It turned out to be pleasure before business when the Batman found her before she could find Napier.

The rented Sedan she was driving shook from the impact of his weight as he landed on the roof, his combat boots leaving two heavy indents in the fabric foam of the car's headliner. The Widow pulled a face and put her foot down on the gas pedal. “Who knew bats were early birds.” Inwardly, Natasha drew great pleasure from the fact she was the reason he had to break his nighttime patrolling routine because of her.

She was going to make sure it was worth his while.

No matter how she swerved the vehicle on the thankfully empty highway, doing way more than the speeding limit, he managed to hold on. With a smashing sound, the window of the passenger side gave in to his forceful kick, and glass rained all over her lap. He slipped onto the seat in one fluid motion she had not trusted him to pull off in his bulky armor. “Stop the car, Natasha. Turn around and leave.”

She elbowed him hard in the face as an answer before they started to wrestle over the wheel. Her gun was up in his face before he knew it. “Fuck off, Bruce.” Unfazed he parried her arm and the bullets went straight through the car's dented ceiling. He slapped the gun from her hand and made another move for the wheel. "You should not have come to Gotham." Without warning, he reached down and yanked at the parking brake.

At a little over 80 mph, the Sedan's rear broke out and sent them crashing into the traffic barrier like a pinball before doing a rollover like a stunt car. After flipping four times, it slithered across the asphalt to come to a smoking standstill on its roof, wheels still turning. Dazed, she scrambled out of the gaping window hole and looked back. Back at the man who ascended from the wreckage like a phoenix from the ashes.

Nothing in his stance indicated he had just survived a car crash while she gritted her teeth and fought down the jitters in her legs from the pent-up adrenaline. Seeing she had lost the semi-automatic in the wreck, one of her many hidden knives appeared in her hand. She threw it and managed to jab his arm, but it got stuck inside his armor which looked like an upgraded, more flexible version at close proximity.

“This is ridiculous.”  
His voice was more of a growl and prompted her to sneer in his face.  
“Looked in the mirror lately, darling?”  
  
His lips thinned into one grim line. He flung something small and metallic at her which stung on her wrist, forcing her to drop the second knife with a hiss. Undeterred she moved in for close combat, hitting him with all she had, angry at the fact that he would try to find ways to incapacitate her without doing actual harm. His gentlemanly attitude fueled her ire, leaving her completely unprepared for when he headbutted her.

She went down like a bag of spuds.  
  
When she woke with a mean shiner on her forehead, she was laying on a park bench at a bus stop outside of Gotham, and he was gone without a trace. Natasha pushed the abnormal swell of infatuation aside when she saw he had not even bothered to tie her up.

“Big mistake.”

* * *

They clashed again just two nights later. Napier had remained untraceable, but Black Widow had enough on her plate as it was.

That time, at a deserted warehouse on the docks, he dropped from the shadows of the ceiling right behind her. A sharp whoosh, then some sort of net cannon engulfed her and dragged her down to the floor. "You seem hard of hearing." Underneath her torso, Natasha was already working on cutting the cast net which was made from something stronger than Monofilament twine. 

"You seem to have caught chronic laryngitis. Neither of us is perfect."

Once he bent over to pick her up, the net ripped open and Black Widow jumped to her feet to apply a high Taekwondo kick that caught him out of the blue. In the split second he was sidetracked she jumped on his back and rammed a syringe into a small, flexible part of his armor between neck and collarbone. The Batman threw her over his shoulder with enough force that she crashed into the crates in the corner.

As she rolled over onto her stomach to watch him stand there swaying on the spot, she could not help but allow a very nasty smirk to creep in.

“Wha've... y'done... t'me?”

The new neuromuscular blocker worked fast, Natasha acknowledged with smug satisfaction at his slurred speech. Maybe SHIELD was indeed doing good at teaming up with that playboy prick Stark and his nifty little gadgets, expensive as they were. The Batman staggered some more until he dropped to all fours, still trying to fight the chemicals rushing through his bloodstream. She curled her lips and tilted her head.

“Atta boy, but you can give it up, it's of no use.” He kept on crawling forward inch by inch, his breath of exertion coming out in panted huffs. “... get... mehth'ant'dote.” Assuming a wide stance and putting her arms akimbo, Natasha took great comfort in watching him struggle. Less than a feet away from her leather boots his arms and legs finally gave out and he collapsed, one gloved hand stretched out into her direction.

“Nighty-night, B. Sweet dreams.”  
  
Before she headed out, ready to get back on track with her true mission, Natasha leaned in to ensure he was not going to choke on his tongue. Her fingers briefly traced the small strip of skin around his mouth until she straightened up and walked away, heels clicking on concrete floors. As she sat at the controls of the SHIELD helicopter, headed for the place called the Narrows, she shook her head at herself.  
  
She had to be getting soft.


	5. Chapter 5

_'This is how I die'_

The thought was not as scary as Natasha had imagined it to be. It was a fairly rational thought, considering she was currently 50 floors above the city, high up at a construction site building in Gotham's outer rims, dueling it out with none other than the Batman. As it turned out, her target, Napier, had rigged the whole city with explosives. Natasha was furious to learn the intel she had been given was wrong.

The guy was not Hydra but just straight up insane. SHIELD should have long since made a move on him, but because of a funny nickname and a painted face, he had been underestimated. And now the Joker had managed to fool an entire city, including the GCPD, and escaped yet again, playing mind games with a handful of detonators. Black Widow reached for her gun and fired three shots. The bullets ricocheted off his armor.

“Get out of here - the whole building can...”

The first set of explosives rocked the foundation, and both of them near lost their footing. She secured her gun and jumped to another steel beam, unmindful of the gaping abyss below. “Save it for someone who cares.” A shadow of a black cape whooshed past her and she knelt down on one knee to steady her aim. The second wave of detonations was quick to follow, sending a good portion of the upper floors crashing down.

About to duck for cover, Natasha could not prevent the cry of pain as her leg got hit by a chunk of concrete blocks. She curled into a little ball, trying to shield her head and face. The sinking feeling inside her stomach told her they were rushing downward, following the ways of gravity, and she grabbed a nearby long-span beam to not drown in the wake of metal and concrete.

When she blinked her surroundings back into view, she was still alive, but also still trapped. Above her head, a screeching large steel beam swayed precariously on a wobbling piece of concrete. It was sliding lower, almost in slow motion, and Natasha swallowed against a rough throat.

_'This is how I die'_

Her mouth tasted of blood and her eyes stung from the dirt in the air. One of her ankles was trapped, no matter how hard she tried to free it. Through the curtain of tears, she saw the Batman reach for his grapple hook to escape the collapsing building. Until something strange happened. He turned around and looked at her trying to rob belly forward on the floor. And made the one, crucial mistake that cost him his head start.  
  
He came back.

* * *

_'I am not dead.'_

After her world had gone completely black, Natasha dared to open her eyes. All that she saw was a murky darkness. A stickiness engulfed her lungs as she tried to inhale, and she erupted in a cough. Her skinned fingertips felt around until they touched something other than rubble and debris.

_'Please don't be dead.'_

His unmoving, tall form eventually started to move as well, and it angered her just how much of a relief it was. “You're an even bigger fool than your alter ego.” They were laying a few inches apart, which allowed her to see how his lips gave a meek twitch. Natasha also saw the small rivulets of blood running from his nose and lips. “Maybe.” It was more of a whisper than a growl.

She ignored him and craned her neck to catch a sliver of the nighttime sky through the wreck. “Your bungee jumping move at least got us down to the ground.” No answer. “... Bruce?” He was out cold from what most likely had to be a concussion. She probed her mangled leg, finally found it free, and twisted and turned until she was able to get into a crouched position.

They were huddled underneath a tent-like assembly of steel beams which had created a small bubble for them to survive the crash. If it had not been for his Tarzan-and-Jane stunt, she would not have made it, Natasha realized with grim acceptance. Now that he had gone and saved her life while sacrificing his, she felt an odd sense of either responsibility or redemption.

Before she had time to mull it over, wailing sirens of the police and the fire department interrupted her train of thought. Using all of her remaining stamina, Natasha pulled and pushed and dragged his armored body along the concrete rubble over to where she hoped and prayed to find suitable transportation. She kept on cursing in Russian the entire time because she was so sore, and he was so damn heavy.

* * *

Bruce woke a little later, in a cramped position in the cargo compartment of a pickup truck, surrounded by construction site equipment. Part of his cape was wedged in between the tailgate, either deliberately or by accident, preventing him from getting anywhere, except into vertical. He got a mouthful of a stale blanket and sputtered while he tried to raise his head.

At the pain-filled groan that escaped him, Natasha's head poked around the driver's seat. Her face was serene; dirtied and caked with blood, but her eyes seemed to hold a faint speck of relief at seeing him conscious. She overrode the concern by arching an elegant eyebrow. “Stay down, Sleeping Beauty.” His eyes rolled in the back of his head before he could muster up the energy for an equally quirky reply.

The next time Bruce came to, they were not in a car anymore, and he not wearing his suit. Instead, he was only dressed in his undersuit made from techno-mesh, laying on some sort of bed or couch. His head felt like a buzzing hornets' nest, and he waited until the colorful spectra in front of his eyes were gone before darting them around and inspecting his surroundings.

Next to him, the lithe body of Natasha Romanov lay curled up on one side, fast asleep. She looked as banged up and dirtied as before, and he slid the plastic comforter they were using as a blanket over her slim silhouette. As soon as his feet touched the floor, he all but stepped into the pointy ears of his cowl. Bruce barely managed to suppress a hissed-out curse.

* * *

The door fell shut with a soft click. After listening to him getting dressed, Natasha's eyes blinked open as soon as he was gone. The gentle kiss he had pressed to her temple burned on her skin and prevented her from going after him, even as he took the hot-wired truck into his possession.

_'If it's private before business, you're doomed as a spy'_

Natasha knew all those sayings and ideologies. She hated herself for even thinking about it, but it was of no use. She had been unable to kill the Batman, and she would continue to fail that mission time and time again. And that made her the biggest liability there was. Reaching for the phone on the cheap nightstand of the motel, Natasha Romanov, therefore, did the only reasonable thing.

After the first ring, the line got picked up.

“Hello?”  
She swallowed once.  
“It just started raining in Washington right now.”

Her extrication unit arrived less than an hour later to take her back to base in a stealth chopper. They pulled her off the Gotham case without much ado. Nick looked at her like he knew there was some missing piece of a puzzle she was not sharing, but he knew better than to push and prod one of his best spies. True to herself, Natasha got antsy three weeks later and got assigned her next case.

_'Why does it always have to be billionaires-turned-superheroes?'_

 


	6. Chapter 6

Posing as Tony Stark's new personal assistant was far less hazardous than she assumed at first. Natasha aka Natalie Rushman did not take long to find out that Stark had narcissistic issues the size of Death Valley, an unaddressed alcohol problem, and the hots for his longtime PA Pepper Potts.

Two weeks into her assignment, Natasha then opened the door of her rented apartment in Santa Monica to find none other than a smiling Bruce Wayne in front of it, holding a bouquet of mixed flowers. “Good afternoon.” She did not give him the satisfaction of being even remotely flustered. Her eyes wandered down to the flowers in his hand. “Daisies.” He looked down at the bouquet as if seeing it for the first time.

“Why yes. Gerbera daisies, daisy poms, spider mum, and baby’s breath. Perfect for a third date.” Natasha crossed her arms over her loose-fitted jersey shirt and leaned against the doorway. “Is that what it is?” Instead of an answer, he stretched out his arm and urged her to take the bouquet. “How's your ankle?” She took the flowers from his hand and stepped aside to let him in. “Like new. How's the head?”

Bruce remained standing in the middle of her small loft and looked around with sincere interest as she rummaged around for a suitable vase. “Fantastic. You know what they say about thick skulls? That's me.” Him retreating to his ditzy playboy persona made her grin. “Why are you here, Bruce?” At that, he beamed at her with so much youthful energy that she nearly forgot how he spent most nights.

“To take you to dinner. Or coffee first, then dinner. Whatever you like.”

“What if I say no?”

His white teeth flashed at her. She had to give it to him; he was good at this game.

“I'd be heartbroken.”

She told him to park his butt on her couch and left him to rot there for a good 45 minutes while she got dressed and ready. Bruce took it like a true gentleman without any complaint, especially upon fastening his eyes on the result which was a breezy dress and a pair of high heels.

“Shall we?”

Outside stood a Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder in garish orange. Upon seeing her underwhelmed look, he amended. “This is not mine. They didn't have a Murciélago for rent.” His voice almost took on an apologetic tone as he opened the passenger door for her. On the Pacific Coast Highway, the wind whipped at their hair and the sun made them break out their respective shades.

The loud roar of the engine made any small talk superfluous, for which Natasha was glad. She fastened her gaze on the ocean and mentally went through the next steps of her mission. When they had to slow down because of traffic, he tapped his fingers against the wheel and looked at her. “Aren't you even curious as to where we're going?” A curl of her glossy lips. “Not really.” Bruce pulled a face behind his Ray Bans but said nothing.

The Lamborghini howled out loud as he accelerated with more force than necessary and slipped past three other cars to get into the fast lane again. “I thought we needed to clarify some things regarding the outcome of our individual... existences. On neutral grounds, so to speak.” She turned to look at his profile. “I never attempted to kill you.” Without the cowl, Natasha was able to see his handsome face twist with incredulity.

“You tried to shoot me.”

“From a distance.”

“Less than two feet!”

“Yes, like I said - a distance.”

He shook his head with a lopsided smile.

“Your sense of humor is...”

“Who said I am joking?”

Their gazes met for the briefest moment, then Bruce focused back on the road.

“Speaking of joking...”

Natasha brushed at the hem of her skirt that fluttered around her legs from the airflow. “No. I agreed to this, but on one condition. No work-related talk today.” She knew his eyes had taken in the little flash of her bare thighs, as unobtrusive as he was behind his shades. He was quick to fall back into his jaunty mode and blinding smile. “So I don't get to tell you about the fact that bats eat spiders?”

Bruce Wayne might not have been as much of a smarmy playboy as Stark was, but he was just as eccentric, she mused. Maybe all that money made people weird.  
  
On the outside, she kept her poker face.

“No, you don't.”

“But they do. Look it up.”

“Duly noted.”

In the end, he took her to posh One Pico restaurant in Santa Monica. Overlooking the Pacific they watched the sun go down while eating expensive food. Outside of Gotham, Bruce Wayne seemed just like any other good-looking, rich bachelor in his early thirties. He was charming, funny...

.. and boring.

Natasha flat out yawned at him during dessert, and he was quick to settle the bill. She did not invite him in after he dropped her off safely at home, especially not after he even had the audacity to give her his business card. At least he did not make any attempt to steal a kiss.

Because Natasha was Natasha, she sent an email to Bruce.Wayne@Wayne.com one day later. It did not feature any text whatsoever; only a link to a YouTube video about some truly gruesome bat-eating spiders that lived in Australia.

He did not come by for a second date that week, or the week after.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Save yourself the horror and do not look up bat-eating spiders. Seriously. Don't do it.


	7. Chapter 7

In the end, Natasha passed her Tony Stark mission with flying colors. Mind you, he was going to have to deal with the result of her assessment as well as the fact that his new-found expo was in shambles, but hey, at least he finally scored on the personal happiness front. He and Potts looked truly in love, so screw that minor financial setback.

After being freed from having to wear flimsy little business costumes at Stark Industries, Natasha was glad to be back at SHIELD and her usual attire. That was until their next, weekly meeting. “The Batman's a murderer.” At Fury's matter-of-fact statement, Natasha was the first to speak up. “No, he's not.” Several heads turned her way, but her lethal glare made them avert their eyes soon after. “Agent Romanov?”  
  
Nick's good eye rested on her until she blinked and ended their staring match. “I... have enough proof to state otherwise.” A few other agents began to whisper but were silenced by a stern look from their superior. Nick Fury then clasped his hands behind his back and strode over to his chair at the head of the meeting table. “I'll give you 48 hours. Otherwise, SHIELD is going to bring the guy in.”

So she sought him out.

They had not been in touch for the past weeks, and what she found when she returned to Gotham was a broken spirit hiding away in his penthouse. Getting into his inner circle had not been as easy as Natasha figured at first, but once she wore a cleaning maid outfit, she worked her way up to his private quarters. The master bedroom was dark, with all blinds drawn shut on what was otherwise a fantastic city panorama.

She made him out under the covers, laying flat on his back, eyes closed.  
“Why are you here?”  
His quiet voice startled her, but she forced down any outward reaction.

“To see if it's true.”  
In slow motion, his eyes fluttered open and he blinked up at her face.   
“It is. Happy now?”   
  
Natasha would have loved to slap him, but refrained. He looked far too pale and drawn. “You're no murderer. Why do you pretend to be the one thing you abhor more than anything?” A mild, rather irritating smile. “Why do you care?” She all but bristled, albeit on the inside. On the outside, she was the epitome of bored and cynical. “I don't. I just can't deal with pitiful scapegoats who protect the wrong kind of people.”  
  
Bruce said nothing and only swallowed. His eyes closed again. “Have a safe flight home. All key-card imprints you took will be worthless once you're out of the door.” At that, Natasha's face morphed into an affectionate expression. She leaned in to apply a peck on his too warm forehead. “You need to lay low for a while. Come to me once you're able to stand on your two feet.”

He did not bother to reply to that and she left without any further word and without looking back.

True to his word, all safety codes were invalid as soon as she had left the skyscraper.

* * *

_'Death Of Harvey Dent Officially Declared An Accident – City Of Gotham Redeems The Batman'_

It was not what Natasha had in mind, but it was good enough. It got SHIELD off his back and gave her a sense of fulfillment at being able to stick it up to the brass in an 'I told you so' fashion. It also did not surprise her that she never got word from him until he showed up six weeks later on her doorstep. That time he had taken a cab, wore a for him casual outfit, brought no flowers, and came in favoring his left leg.

He was also sporting a beard that spoke of a certain time without the cowl, and there was a weariness in his stance that prompted her to break out in one of her finest grins. “For someone who's been given a second chance you look as if someone's pissed on your fireworks.” His jaw clenched, as did his hands. “I didn't ask you to interfere with my business.” She put a hand on her chest with a scandalized pout.  
  
“Oh, but why would I do that?”  
  
Her mocking tone had the desired effect and riled him up further; visible from the way he balled his fists. “I reckon whatever you were offered was worth it. Is SHIELD going to try and nab me right after my visit?” His voice was dripping acid. It prompted her to give him one of her best condescending looks. “You think you'd still be here if that was actually the case? How innocently foolish, B.”

“Stop fooling the both of us here, Natasha.”  
  
“No, Bruce, stop commiserating your sorry ass and get back on track.”  
  
His features became hostile as he shot up from the chair and left it to topple over. “You don't know anything about what happened that night, so don't go and patronize me!” His outburst came as a surprise to her, and him, apparently, because Bruce ran a hand through his hair and turned around to compose himself.   
  
Natasha felt like he was trusting her too much to do that without expecting an assault, but she refrained from flinging a book at his back to test his reflexes. Instead, she put her arms akimbo and huffed. “Your moping shit attitude is not going to bring her back.”

_'Her? Where did that come from? Real smooth, Nat.'_

When he swung around, there was so much fire in his eyes that she actually took one step back.

“No. You don't get to talk about Rachel. I will personally shut you up if you dare to say so much of a single word.” Natasha figured she had never witnessed someone limping out on her while making it look dangerous. Until now. Too bad he was not up to par to put on the suit and give her some of that fire in a hand-on-hand combat. She would have loved to kick his mourning ass until he started looking forward again instead of back.  
  
_'Maybe next time.'_

 


	8. Chapter 8

When she was recruited to be a part of the Avengers, Natasha was not too enthused but accepted the order sans complaint. Nick Fury had always been in favor of putting her skills to the test, and the assembly process needed a level-headed spy to keep him in the know about each team member. As soon as Black Widow saw the names on the final roster list, her mood lightened up considerably.

Working with Clint again was something she truly looked forward to, and a huge part of her accepting willingly. Clint 'Hawkeye' Barton and her shared a fond past of missions gone south and missions completed successfully, even if they usually ended up arguing over different memories each. After she had successfully obtained a certain, fidgety Doctor Banner from India, Natasha met the man they called Captain America.

No five minutes into their meeting she decided she would go and file an adoption for Steve Rogers once their super secret mission would be over. He was just too pure and innocent for this world, just like the other, huge walking mountain of muscles they came to call Thor Odinson. _'All Systems Go on the testosterone front. As long as there's no old lady to be led over the street or stray kittens to be rescued, that is.'_

Out loud she loved to snark back at the very Tony Stark upon their reunion and was truly glad he seemed a lot more stable than the last time she saw him blasting his own expo to pieces. Natasha suspected Pepper Potts had a lot to do with that. Seeing them sparring verbally and feeding each other's lines made her involuntarily think of another eccentric billionaire who loved dressing up to beat the bad guys.

It had been almost four weeks of no contact whatsoever. Natasha sent him an e-card saying _'Before you tell me what I did wrong, you should first know that I don't care'_ without any additional text. Bruce Wayne caved in later than she had estimated and stood in front of her door the week after. She opened him in a tight black skirt and a white blouse, about to meet her landlord and sign the necessary papers to end her current tenancy agreement.

With great enjoyment she noticed the way his eyes followed her every curve despite his usual sour-lemon expression. “You're joining the Avengers' Initiative.” Of course he knew. She did not bother to grace him with an answer and Bruce crossed his arms. “So what's your superpower apart from browsing the web for stupid e-cards and triple-spying on people?” Natasha then figured two could play that game.

All smug she stepped in front of a mirror to put the finishing touches to her hairdo. “Clint and I got a lot to catch up on after Budapest. It's gonna be fun. The rest, I'm sorry, is confidential.” His right hand twitched ever so slightly, but he covered it up by flipping the button of his jacket open. “So you enjoy hanging with that archer.” Bruce's smirk morphed into a sneer at the way he pronounced the word 'archer'.

“Who puts an archer on a team of supposed superheroes anyway? Isn't he going to run out of arrows five minutes into a fight?” He was pitiful, and that was exactly what she told him. Besides something else. “Clint knows me better than you ever will.” His expression hardened in the blink of an eye. He gripped her wrist as she wanted to walk past. “Meaning what? That you slept with him more than once?”  
  
Without thinking she pulled back and smacked him with a left hook that was sloppily executed. “You don't know a fucking thing!” The punch to his jaw had not made him let go of her wrist. Instead, he only narrowed his eyes. “Stop pushing me away all the time and I might just be inclined to listen.” She started to tug on his grip, albeit half-hearted. “Who said I want you to listen? Who said I want you to do anything for me?”

When he yanked her against him, she was about to slug him again, but he simply grabbed and pinned both of her wrists down by her sides. The kiss he then forced onto her lips was hard and demanding. Once he let go of her mouth and her wrists, the loud smack of a slap echoed through the room. “Don't you dare to do that again, asshole!” His cheek glowed bright red and featured all of her five fingerprints.

Natasha then felt dauntless enough to grab him by the collar of his jacket, despite the many inches that separated them in height. A fire burnt in his gaze but he did not move until she crushed her mouth to his with as much force as she could. She bit his bottom lip, to which his pinched lips opened up, and invaded his tongue with her own. Bruce made a low sound in the back of his throat which sounded like an animal on the prowl.

His large palms found their way around her rear, squeezed hard and pulled her close to him. He stumbled forward until the back of Natasha's knees bumped into the kitchen table. He wasted no time clearing the desktop with a swift, swiping move of his arm and pushed her onto it. Her legs wormed themselves around his waist as he nipped at her throat and got rid of the buttons on her blouse with a sharp tug on the fabric.

When she lay before him in a black lace bra, chest heaving as his fingers were idling lower to slip under her skirt and panties, Bruce gave a dirty smirk. “Bet you I could take your Clint on. Easily.” Propping herself up on her elbows, she threw him a despicable look. “Oh, really? Just like you've taken on the Joker?” It was a blow of the lowest kind, and Natasha knew it the moment it slipped from her tongue.  
  
Bruce's posture went rigid and he removed his hands from her body as if he had been burnt. “Close your legs, I'm not interested.” Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger, both at herself and him. “Fuck you, too, Wayne.” The door slammed shut behind him even before she had finished her sentence.  
  
_'Bastard!'_

 


	9. Chapter 9

After the whole Chitauri and Loki incident, the Avengers needed a break – from the world, and from each other. Natasha went under the radar, untraceable even for Nick Fury, and only did the things she wanted to do. Which was getting out of New York, first and foremost, even if SHIELD did not really want her to leave. They tried to track her, but she put the device onto a Greyhound bus headed for Smallville, Kansas.

Disguised as Nadine Roman, she then loosely followed a couple of people and ended up in a circle that worshiped someone whom they called Dorrance. The guy never was around and Natasha was almost convinced those foot soldiers were delusional until word had it they were headed out for Gotham City. And then he showed up. Huge, muscular, intimidating. Wearing a gruesome respiratory machine.  
  
And Natasha understood that Dorrance was just an alias for the man they called Bane; according to SHIELD a cunning maniac of utter brutality.

_'Oookay, B, I hope you have picked up your Batsuit from the dry cleaner.'_

Even if Black Widow had sworn to herself to never set another foot back into that hellhole, she went along, disguised as a fellow hand for Bane's ragtag team. Once she had arrived, it also did not take her long to catch wind of a petty little cat-burglar who had gotten way too cozy with a certain someone. No, Natasha was not jealous. She just was not too fond of pathetic competition dressed in skin-tight leather and high heels.  
  
Worst of all was the fact that the copycat had managed to lure the Batman into a trap. Natasha hated how she had succeeded in garnering his trust; Bruce really should have known better. She was as angry with him as she was with that Kyle woman, but by the time she arrived, he was not around to feel her wrath, because he was already feeling Bane's.

The latter was completely possessed with the thought of subjugating Gotham, and Natasha knew he would be giving the Batman more than a hard time. Black Widow opened one of her most trustworthy channels to communicate the impending besieging of the city before she tried to prevent the tragedy from unfolding. In the end, she got close but was still too late.

Right before her eyes, he became trapped in a lethal fight just below Wayne Enterprises.

She saw how Bruce fought like a madman, but Bane was almost of otherworldly strength. After pummeling his opponent into submission, Bane lifted him above his head like he would not weigh +200 lbs and slammed him over his knee. The sickening crunch of Bruce's back and the strangled scream that escaped his lips before he lost consciousness burnt itself deep into Natasha's mind.

Years of training made her keep her cool and allowed her to play along with her covert operation until the opportunity to get him out of their clutches would present itself. In the end, Black Widow killed six of Bane's men in cold blood and took their getaway van to escape with him, hidden in the back. Cowl-less and dripping wet from both sewage and blood, Bruce was nothing but a dead weight in her arms.

For the first time in a long period of time, Natasha felt afraid. Afraid to move him in his current state. Afraid of the consequences he would suffer if she made a mistake. Afraid to lose him for good. So she pushed a small syringe into his vein, waited two more minutes for the sedative to kick in, and heaved him into the Quinjet.

Natasha knew SHIELD would be hell-bent on finding both the Batman and her after her message about what had happened in Gotham.  
  
_'If Bane isn't quicker once he finds out I foiled his plan, that is.'_  
  
The coordinates she set the Quinjet for were the most random ones she had ever navigated to.  
  
Going off the grid had never felt more appealing.

* * *

Half an hour later, she perked up at the sound of something clattering to the ground. Natasha put the jet on autopilot and went in the back to check on her patient. She found him responsive enough to have brushed the oxygen mask off his face. Once she appeared in his line of view, he struggled to speak.

“... 'tasha?”

His face was a swollen, bloodied mess peppered with lacerations and purple bruises. His skin and hair were still damp, as were his suit and cape. She had not dared to undress him, given the severity of his back injury. “I'm getting you somewhere to patch you up. Easy, tiger.” Bruce mumbled something that sounded like “Noshield” and was too coherent for someone who had just received 10 mL of fospropofol disodium.

“Can't feel m'legs.”  
Out of instinct, she leaned in and brushed a hand over his sodden bangs.  
“Must be the painkillers, don't worry now.”

He remained restless and frantic up to a point at which she picked up the oxygen mask from the floor and slipped it back over his face. “Inhale deep and relax.” Bruce registered too late how she had turned up the switch for sleeping gas instead of oxygen. Under her watchful custody, his eyes soon fluttered shut. Once she was sure he was deeply asleep, she allowed the sigh that was on her lips to finally escape.

“I still need to get you out of the suit and I'd rather not have you awake while I do it.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: This is where we leave movie canon timelines for a bit...  
> (consequently, the eight years that happened between TDK and TDKR are not applicable in this verse)
> 
> Also, according to batman.wikia.com/wiki/Bane, Dorrance is Bane's real (last) name


	10. Chapter 10

The Quinjet was able to sustain its advanced cloaking system long enough for Natasha to park it in some rural part way up north of both Gotham and New York. With Bruce then stripped out of his Batsuit and wrapped in a blanket, she hurried off to get help from the first local rangers she encountered in the area. The story of being a couple who had experienced a hiking tour gone bad worked like a charm.

Her thick Russian accent with broken English got them admitted to a nearby hospital even without IDs. There, Bruce immediately got set up for surgery of, what she learned, was a fractured vertebra in the lower thoracic area. While he was in the operating room, Natasha allowed the nurses to check up on her. She was able to act like a frightened young woman and scored an additional prescription for some light sedatives.

The nurses told her she would have to wait some more until he would be out of surgery, so she laid low, slept a little and ate at the small but okay cafeteria of the hospital. The chance to bail him out a day later presented itself in form of a stolen night shift nurse costume. When she arrived in his room a little after midnight, he was awake but still doped up to his eyeballs. “Whoa, sexy. Should wear white m're often.”

Natasha almost gaped at him as she unhooked the bed. Almost. “Excuse you?” His mangled face morphed into a stupid simper. “Wanna take m'temperature?” She made sure to roll her eyes for him to see before she fastened the straps around him and drew the blanket up higher. “Hush now, stupid.” No one stopped them as she wheeled the gurney out and over into the Quinjet.

Bruce kept on chuckling under the blanket until she pondered if she needed to gag him. “What on earth have they given you?” It was she remembered she had not told the doctors about the massive sedatives he had received from her prior to the surgery. Oh, well. At least she got to ogle his nice, firm backside in that skimpy green hospital gown.

_'I saved his goddamn hide, so I might as well look at it.'_

* * *

Indian River, Michigan.

A quaint little town in the north where life was still simple and no one would bother to look for a deserted assassin and her supposedly dead too-stupid-to-be-an-assassin company. Money thankfully was not an issue. Over the years, Natasha had set up various accounts under various names, granting her the opportunity of a steady cash flow at her beck and call.

She got them two fake IDs by the names of Robert and Masha Kane and a secluded little, fully-furnished cottage down by the lake. It was in need of renovations with its furniture and décor straight out of the early 90s, but at least provided privacy and enough space to live comfortably. An open kitchen area was reached via three wooden stairs straight from the living room. With its fireplace and direct lake view, Natasha instantly liked it.

After signing the rental agreement, she stopped by at a local drugstore and the only grocery store around. Natasha had calculated her savings to get them by without having to work for at least five months; a time span sufficient enough for him to get back on his two feet.

_'Enough time to also plan my own, next steps.'_

Bruce was out of it for the first two days, due to the heavy amount of opioids in his system. She put him in one of the two bedrooms and made sure the post-surgery catheter was still in place. He removed it himself on day three, and Natasha had to suppress a mean giggle at hearing him wail behind closed doors. When he called for her and she entered his room, he lifted his head with difficulty. And squinted at her.

“Wha.... what have you done?”

Natasha threw a look in a small mirror on the opposite wall. A blonde woman with a short bob stared back at her. “Masha Kane is laying low in a town with less than 2000 people. I suggest you start growing a beard, Robert Kane.” Bruce was less enthused and lowered his aching head with an audible groan. “I don't even know where we are.” She gave a humorless grin. “You wouldn't know even if I told you.”

He was left to stare at her back as she left. At least she left the door slightly ajar. She returned a little later with an armful of clothes she dumped onto a rickety chair in the corner. “These will do for when you're bored of the breezy mint green.” Bruce snapped out of his light daze and glimpsed over at the pile. “Plaid flannel?” Natasha bestowed a very flat expression on him. “I know it's not Armani, but you'll get used to it.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

As soon as there were no more heavy analgesics cruising his bloodstream, Bruce began to ask questions. Of course he was still bound to the bed, so conversation was limited to the times Natasha brought him food, something to drink, or groused at him for having to remove the bottles he used to pee into. “What about Gotham? Bane?” She watched him trying to shift higher but did not move to lend a hand.  
  
“I contacted SHIELD before your extrication. They'll have apprehended Bane and restored civil order.” While he mulled over those facts, she pointed at the bowl of soup in front of him on a small lap tray. “Eat. No one knows you're here or that you're even alive. You have reached complete public immunity.” Bruce took the spoon in his hand but hesitated. “Alfred. He... thinks I am dead.” She remained emotionless.

“Not the first time for him. He'll be fine.” Her ruthless answer made him fall silent and stare down at the bowl. Natasha huffed and threw two pieces of bread onto the tray with more force than necessary. “No. Don't even think about it. No postcards, no phone calls. Don't you dare to expose our location in your current state.”  
  
“But he's...”

The fact that she had a bread knife in her hand may have been the reason why she was able to cut him short. “You've got the chance to start all over, no strings attached. You'd be a fool throwing this away because of sentimental attachments.” Bruce raised his head to look up at her through stringy bangs. “Isn't that what you always call me? A fool?” Masked pain was etched on his features. She nodded with vigor.

“Yes. Don't make me regret getting into this trouble and spending all my money on your sorry behalf. Now eat up, I won't be reheating it.” He fell silent and dipped the spoon into the thick, red liquid. She went back to make lunch for herself and ignored the hurt and dejection in his stance. When she went to use the restroom and inevitably passed his door later that night, Natasha very well heard the nightmares that plagued him.

Schooling her features into a blank mask, she put her head down and walked past.  
  
_'None of my business.'_

* * *

Bruce asked her to hand him the clothes on the chair after three more days. He dressed in bed, needed a lengthy pause to regenerate from the exertion, and decided to save the denim and socks for another day. Natasha, wearing equally casual attire, stuck her head into his room later and examined his progress. “Do you want to keep the sexy hospital gown for kinkier times?” Still winded, he covered his eyes with an arm.  
  
“Go away.”  
  
When he began to try and get out of the bed to walk on his own, she did not come to his assistance. “Push yourself cause no one's gonna do it for you. If you can't do it without help, you're not ready.” He never cursed at her, even as he lay face down on the carpet, arms quivering from trying to push his torso up to get back onto the mattress after yet another failed attempt.

Natasha lost count of the times she heard or saw him stumble and fall while forcing his weakened legs to cooperate. Part of her figured he might have needed extensive physiotherapy post-surgery instead of being yelled at by a woman who gave him a hard time, but then again, life was no walk in the park. At least he did not end up being a cripple at Bane's nonexistent mercy, she thought, not without a hint of gratification.

At some point, Bruce alienated an old broomstick as a makeshift cane and used it to hobble around.

It at least minimized the times he tripped and got himself even more bruises. It ultimately limited him to the upper floor, seeing Natasha refused to haul his “useless butt” up the stairs one more time. So Bruce practiced on his own. Took the first two stairs down, held on for dear life on the banister, got splinters in his palm, and dragged his weakened body back up to rest for an hour.

He would continue that game until he stood down at the end of the staircase one day, sweated but proud. “And now all the way back up, but with a little more ardor.” In between his huffing and panting, Natasha saw him shaking his head. When he turned around to work his way back up, he missed out on the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

After two more weeks, Bruce was able to take the stairs without so much of a brief pause. The beard he had grown out by now was of surprisingly ginger color, and a good way to tease him endlessly about it. “Give it two more months and you'll be going full Yosemite Sam.” That was when he decided to take his rehab program out into the wilderness and away from her venom.

He would return hours later, often leaving her to wonder if he had gotten killed by nature or the local fauna. His pale face soon sported the first signs of sunburn where the scruff of beard was not covering it, so Natasha rummaged around the cabin until she found a well-worn straw hat to cram onto his head. “I'm not wearing that!” Hazel eyes glowered at her from under the rim. She flickered two fingers against it.  
  
“If you're roughing it up in the woods, Daniel Boone, you might as well do it in style.”  
  
_'Or at least make me laugh whenever you're wearing it.'_

Sometimes, she watched him limp out to the small, crooked landing stage outside their house. A lake the size of several football fields lay at their feet, dark-blue and mesmerizing, but there were no boats available. Bruce always hobbled to the shoreline of the lake and stood there, unmoving, for what seemed an eternity. She never made an attempt to join him, and he never asked for her company.  
  
When his footing got better, he dared to advance out onto the landing stage bit by bit until one day, he had reached its end.  
  
From that point on, it became his favorite solitary spot.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Living in a rural area with no connection to the outer world was something Natasha was familiar with. Her childhood in Volgograd, but especially the hard and bleak life as a part of the Black Widow Ops during her days as a full-time spy in Russia, had shaped her for making the best out of any dire living situations. Being undercover was second nature to her, so Masha Kane decided to keep her hair blonde and her clothes plain.

She bought an old and rusty 1995 Chevy Cheyenne for less than $ 1,500 which she would drive the two miles over to Ken's Village Market for groceries every Wednesday. The Quinjet was stowed away safely, deep down in the forest, cloaked under a tarp, and turned incommunicado. Bruce never asked about how they had gotten here, and she never told him about its existence.  
  
_'He might go and discover it himself on one of his many long hiking sessions.'_

One day, he saw her getting ready for her weekly grocery run and frowned upon seeing her put a small band on the ring finger of her left hand. “What's that supposed to be?” Natasha's mouth curled with wryness. “Laying low in a town with 2000 people that thinks we're newlyweds requires a bit of pretense.” Bruce's frown deepened. “Where did you get that ring?”  
  
“Charming Charlie for ten bucks.” He looked downright offended and eyed the rhinestone-covered item again. “I would never... it's beyond tacky and tasteless.” Natasha spread her fingers and looked at the shiny pavé ring. “Then it's perfect.” The look on his face spoke of unhappiness, but he did not make the mistake to voice it. “Where's mine?” She threw him a brief look of confusion. “Yours?” His expression turned insolent.  
  
“I believe that's the concept of wedding rings.”  
  
Much to his disappointment, Natasha only gave a disinterested shrug. “Nah, Robert Kane's a simple blue-collar kind of guy. He ditched his ring while he worked the steel mills back home in Cincinnati. Maybe he even lost it in the furnace. Bobby's careless like that.” Bruce Wayne looked at her long and hard. Eventually, he turned around and gripped the backrest of the kitchen chair.

“If you say so.”

* * *

The summer was almost in full bloom and the temperatures were going up.

Their cottage naturally came without air condition, so they spent most of the time outside. Bruce started to get into swimming the whole length of the lake, fully intent on getting at least some of his stamina back. He also started doing situps on the pier, with his legs up on the wooden planks and upper body hanging face down in the water, forcing him to raise himself up again and again if he did not want to drown.

Natasha found it very method-athlete-like and also a bit stupid, but kept her thoughts to herself. Without suitable swimwear at hand, she had to leave the lake to him and resorted to going for runs in the surrounding forest grounds instead. Early in the morning, way before the sweltering heat became too severe, the lush green atmosphere, calm and peacefulness of the moment did wonders for her mood.

One day, however, she was not careful enough and took a hard nosedive after her ankle got stuck in a root hidden under a patch of thicket. The pain that flared up from her foot was bad enough for her to not try to put any weight on it, and so, after a pathetic attempt, Natasha was forced to play the damsel in distress. Without any communication devices, she hoped he would be smart enough to start wondering about her whereabouts.

True to her estimation, Bruce found her propped up against a tree not even an hour later. Worry was etched deep on his features to which she only rolled her eyes with a miffed expression. Despite her heavy protests, Bruce carried her all the way to their cabin, piggyback style. Natasha heard him breathe hard, but he never once faltered or complained about her weight on his still tender back.

Upon the couch in the living room, he then removed her shoe with care and inspected the swollen joint.  
  
“Not broken but definitely sprained. You need to leave it propped up and keep on icing it for a few days.”

“Oh, great. We're almost out of groceries.”

“Leave that to me.”

With those words, Bruce Wayne went to take the truck down to Indian River's city center with its village market store for the first time.

It took him two hours until he came back looking like he just returned from war.

From her place on the sofa, Natasha inspected his meager haul. He had bought two dozen Campbell's soups along, most of them fat-free, which turned out to be by mistake. There also was a handful of carrots with limp green tops, two overly ripe avocados, a carton of lactose-free milk while neither of them was lactose intolerant, and a loaf of bread that was already stale enough to crack somebody's skull with.

She briefly pondered to make good use of that last feature, but the sight of the final item distracted her. “We're running out of food, but Monsieur at least bought a shitty transistor radio.” With a cranky pout, Bruce snatched the radio from her hand and retreated to the table to unpack it. “We need to have a least some connection to the outside world.” The first, tinny sounds filled the kitchen and Natasha gave an audible groan.

“Stuck in the wilderness with nothing but country and western stations. No, correction. Nothing but country and western stations, and a man who honestly thinks two adults should survive on canned soup.” The chair scraped against the wooden floor as he stood up. “Just you wait.” Despite her bad ankle, she got up and hopped over to switch the annoying radio off as soon as he had stormed upstairs.

He came trotting down ten minutes later, and Natasha had to suppress a belly laugh which would have been way uncharacteristic of her. “Don't tell me that's going to be what it looks like.” From where he walked past with a fishing rod thrown over his shoulder, Bruce glowered at her. “This can't be too hard.” Natasha crude laughter followed him all the way outside and over to the landing stage.  
  
“Of course not. You're Batman. What's a little fishing?”  
  
He chose to ignore her and settled in at the far end of the stage.  
Bruce came back empty-handed after three hours to a bowl of lukewarm, fat-free broccoli soup.  
Natasha never saw the fishing rod again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ring in question:  
> http://media.charmingcharlie.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/1/0/101242746_1.jpg


	13. Chapter 13

They got the first real scare when a truck from the Michigan Department of Natural Resources pulled up their driveway one evening. An officer dressed in a park ranger uniform got out and walked over to where Natasha was stepping out onto the front porch after she had put on her wedding ring in a haste. “Evening, Ma'am.” He tipped the brim of his hat in greeting.

“We've been inquiring about illegal motor boating activities in this area. Have you seen or heard anything?” Remembering Masha's origin story, Natasha forced her voice into the typical hues of her mother tongue. “One second, I have to ask my husband... Bobby? Hey, Bobby!” Bruce only appeared after she had called out his alias name another time. “This gentleman asks about motorboats in this area.”

He started to scratch his nape with a yawn, revealing slightly yellow stains under the armpit of his white shirt. “Nah, sorry, mate. Haven't seen or heard anythin'. Ma wifey and I are busy workin' the whole day.” Bobby Kane reinforced his statement by drawing her close to his side and patting her backside. Natasha, who was a professional, kept on smiling and nodding along at his drawled out antics.

The ranger gave them a card with a phone number and told them to call in case anything would come up. They remained standing arm in arm and watched him drive off until his truck had disappeared from their view. “ _Mate_? I didn't know Bob's an Aussie. Also...” She elbowed him so hard in the side that he actually gasped out loud and released her before she turned to walk inside. Incredulous, Bruce rubbed at the sore spot.

“What was that for?”  
In a quick, irate motion, Natasha pulled the cheap jewelry off her finger.  
“For pinching my butt, you dirty pig.”

* * *

When the small pump for their water supply broke one day later, Natasha and Bruce stood and looked at it with grim expressions. "I'll fix it." Wayne prodded it with a booted toe before squaring his shoulders. "Oh, please.” She was wise enough to step out of the way to avoid getting sprayed head to toe by a discharge of dirty water. As Bruce stood and wiped an elbow over his eyes, Natasha pulled the car keys from her pocket.

“I know a guy in town who could help.”

Jerry Griffin was a man in his late fifties with curly gray hair and a red trucker hat that seemed to live on his head. He owned a small motorboat shop west of Indian River and was nice enough to close his shop for the rest of the day to follow Natasha in his own car down to their cabin. Jerry hunkered down with a grunt, inspected the damage done, and came to a conclusion.

“Yup, pump's busted for good. Looks like an older model. Suction strainer's broken, too. I have a newer 12 volts pump at the store. 3.5 gallons per minute, 45 psi, used but should do the trick just fine. I'll go get it for ya.” When Natasha came his way with a shabby looking wallet in her hands, Jerry waved her off. “No money, Masha, please.” She squeezed his forearm with a grateful, soft smile. “At least join us for dinner then.”  
  
The pump was installed in less than two hours. Over canned beans and rice, Jerry then began to talk shop. “You should think about a small, 1/2 hp standard well pump as an addition if you need more water. Or get the rainwater right from your roof to a larger storage tank that delivers the water to your cabin by gravity.” Nodding along with fake enthusiasm, Bruce handed Natasha his empty plate.

He then got up to switch the radio on and got their guest and him another round of soft drinks. “Still a lot of stuff to be done 'round here f'sure.” Jerry accepted the coke with a nod and flipped the can's lid. “So where you guys from?” Bruce sat down, spread his legs, and chewed on a toothpick. “Cincinnati, Ohio.” Natasha almost kicked his shin under the table for spreading it on too thick, accent and all.

“Moved up here cause I messed up ma back real bad at the steel mill. Imma have to go 'n see about gettin back into the grind real soon, tho.” Jerry nodded, all sympathetic, but also partly along to an old Willie Nelson song in the background. “If you're good with your hands, come by my shop sometime. I could use a hand once in a while.” Bruce alias Robert Kane reached across the table for a very alpha-male handshake.

“Will do, mate.”  
  
That time Natasha was able to reach his shin.

She gave him credit for keeping a straight face nonetheless. As they went outside to see Jerry off, the elder mechanic glimpsed out of the driver's window of his Ford. “You guys need to come to my birthday party this Saturday. A milestone. 60 years and countin.” When Natasha pondered whether it was too impolite to refuse on the spot, Jerry leaned in with a smile that crinkled up his whole weathered face.

“It's gonna be a country hoedown BBQ!”  
Next to her, Bruce's teeth appeared behind from closed lips, his expression turning into sardonic delight.  
“We'd love to, Jerry.”

* * *

On Saturday evening, their rusty pickup truck parked in front of a huge, well-lit barn that was swarming with people. Loud music echoed through the night, and there were three BBQ stations from which the smell of grilled meat wafted up in the air in billowing gusts of smoke.

Dressed in a navy button-down shirt, jeans and boots, Bruce pushed the brim of his straw cowboy hat a little higher. He had even gone and trimmed the scraggly mess all over his cheeks, mouth, and chin into something remotely presentable. With a boyish smirk, he looked down at the sullen woman by his side. Natasha wore a checkered blouse tied into a knot at the front, slim denims, and calf-high boots.

Her hair was still choppy, blonde, and not reaching her shoulders, so she had not bothered to do anything else apart from layering it with the help of a ghastly sticky, cheap volumizing mousse that smelled of bug spray. “Yer look real gorgeous tonight, pumpkin.” Natasha's face turned downright saccharine as she leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Your death will be slow and painful.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

Part of Natasha feared they might stand out like sore thumbs, but as it turned out, they fit right in with the rest. They searched for Jerry to present him a with bottle of whiskey before Bruce left to get them something to drink from the bar. The trained spy in Natasha saw many women turn their heads and drool at his tall and broad-shouldered physique even if he did not notice, too busy examining the beverages list.

When a slender brunette in a flimsy, low-cut top slid in next to him, Natasha's eyebrow twitched on its own accord. _'Well, look at that.'_ The woman tapped his shoulder and leaned in, asking something, and Natasha was left to watch Bruce nod in all of his innocent body language glory before he reached over to get a couple of napkins from the far corner of the bar for her.

He then returned, two bottles of beer in between his fingers, and handed her the first one. “Since when do you drink beer?” Her voice sounded snippy. Bruce regarded the label sticker with interest. “Pabst Blue Ribbon. Sounds promising.” At that Natasha had to suppress a chuckle. “You don't really drink much beer, do you?” She took the first sip without toasting him. He shrugged and raised the bottle to his lips. “Next to none.”

Much to her surprise, he did not pull a face at the taste and even took another gulp. “This doesn't taste too bad.” Natasha urged him into walking around the large barn, fully intent on losing the feeling of being watched by that brunette on the prowl. Part of her itched to get one of her beloved knives and chop those tacky tresses off the woman's scalp. Bruce, clueless about the true reasons for her wanderlust, watched the party unfold.

“This is truly something.”

“Terrifying you mean.”

“No, liberating.”

To the sounds of yet another upbeat country song involving an obnoxious amount of fiddles and banjos, he emptied his beer and put the bottle aside. With one hand on the belt buckle, Bruce then tipped his hat with a courteous bow. “Mrs. Kane?” Natasha looked at his outstretched arm, and her face automatically scrunched up in exasperation. “Oh, don't be silly.”

He drew the brim of his hat deep into his eyes and closed up to her with a shimmying move that looked downright comical. “I believe the term you're looking for is stupid.” His narrow hips were already bopping along, and despite anything else, Natasha congratulated herself on getting him a pair of rather tight-fitted jeans. “If I knew you'd get funny ideas from just one beer, I wouldn't let you have it.”  
  
She gave an indignant yelp when he took her by the hand and all but pulled her onto the straw-covered dance floor. “Too late.” His palms were warm as he twirled her around to the live tunes of the band. Natasha was just about to free herself with an efficient and, for him, quite painful wrist lock when her eyes spotted the brunette from earlier on the sideline, watching them like a hawk. _'Oh for fuck's sake!'_

Her hand squeezed his in underlying anger. “Who knew you could dance two-step. Redneck much?” Natasha's voice was mocking, even if she kept her face all smiles and put her hand on his hip. White teeth shone back at her just as Bruce's eyes crinkled with mischief. “Professional secret.” Among many pairs, they soon found a rhythm easy to sustain, and she grudgingly had to admit that it could have been worse.

That was until the band switched to a ballad. Natasha dropped her arms as if she had been burnt. Bruce slowly slid his hand off her shoulder and they stood in front of each other in mutual awkwardness, until a sweet-sounding voice chimed in from behind. “May I cut in?” Both whirled around to see the brunette from before standing there with her hands behind her back. She was around Natasha's age and gave Bruce a smoldering smile.

Ignoring the dumbfounded stare of the man in question, Natasha was quick to interlink her arms in his nape. “No. Absolutely not.” To anyone else, it looked romantic. Only Bruce knew she was able to snap his neck in the blink of an eye. “It's our first wedding anniversary.” She threw the other woman an overly fake smile and made sure to showcase her ringed finger until the latter walked past with a mean glare.

Before she knew it, Bruce's hands had found their way on her hips and pulled her close to him. “Maybe Bobby Kane should have also worn his wedding ring. If only he could.” His flippant comment only made her left eyebrow arch up slightly. “Believe me, it wasn't your ring finger she was ogling.” Despite her deadpan retort, Bruce wore a rather stupid grin and continued to sway her to the music.

“Your jealousy's cute.”  
It was then that Natasha deliberately stepped on his toes to which he released his hold on her.  
“It's all part of the make-believe, sweetheart. Now go get me another beer, I'm not drunk enough for this.”

~

When Jerry approached them, all smiles, neither Bruce nor Natasha were able to get out of the traditional square dance event. Trapped in a huge circle with all other guests, they stumbled and blundered through the first round until they got a hang of promenades, Do-si-dos, and Swing-Your-Partners. At some point, they ended up being head couple and had to slide down the aisle. Natasha almost bolted, but his grip was strong.

“C'mon.” Bruce's eyes were glinting with intensity. “We can do this.” To the clapping and hooting of the whole queue, they skipped and slid underneath a row of arms until they reached the far end. There, Bruce spun her out of the active line until they escaped out the back of the open barn. As soon as they were outside, she all but tore from his grip. “Enough of this shit!” Inside, the caller could still be heard giving commands.

Natasha turned on her heel.  
“I wanna go home.”  
Bruce removed the hat and ran a hand through his hair before he put it back on with a dejected sigh.

“Sure.”

~

He made the crucial mistake of trying to sneak into her room that night and nearly got himself castrated. “What the fuck you think you're doing?!” She glowered down at where he cowered on the floor in front of her bed, nursing the most sensitive part of his anatomy after it had felt the wrath of her kneecap. “I... sorry. It -argh- wasn't meant like that.” Down in a fetal position, his voice was strained and high-pitched.  
  
She glowered at him until he had half crouched, half dragged himself out of her room. He would go out of his way to avoid her the next day, up to the point where it began to irk Natasha to no end. When she sought him out, it was already early evening and he was sitting in his usual refuge spot at the end of the landing stage. At a distance, hands clasped behind her back, she paused and regarded his back.

“How's the family jewels?”  
  
Bruce sat with his legs dangling over the jetty and did not turn to look at her.  
“Given up for adoption.”  
She cocked her head at his morbid answer.

“Would it help if I say I didn't mean to?”

“No, but I appreciate it.”

“If it doesn't help, I won't say it.”

Bruce pulled his bare feet out of the water and scrambled into a standing position. He faced her and she instinctively took on a fighting stance. It prompted him to sag his shoulders and wipe a palm over his face. “Do you really think I'm pathetic like that?” His voice was tired. Natasha stepped closer. “No, but I am.” She kissed him hard on the lips, only to push him back into the lake immediately after.

He stood in the doorway of the cabin five minutes later, dripping wet from head to toe, and bestowed his best Batman glower on her. The sight of his taught abs under the see-through white shirt was worth finding the sodden item on her pillow, later on, Natasha decided.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit this chapter only exists because I wanted Bruce and Natasha to dance like Bud and Sissy in that old age flick 'Urban Cowboy' which I haven't even seen *facepalm*, except for this scene: https://youtu.be/OAa_bmHUzB4?t=80


	15. Chapter 15

That evening, a fire crackled softly in the living room. Natasha stood in the nearby kitchen and dried the dishes after dinner. There was the familiar creak of the front door, then quiet footsteps approached the kitchen. The little radio on the shelf came to life with a rustle and a bit of static until he found a station clear enough to listen to. “The world absolutely needs to learn about your perverted obsession with country music.”

His tall presence came to stand behind her to look over her shoulder at her task. “A threat I am completely immune to. Also, you shouldn't work here all the time. Come and sit by the fire with me.” “One of us has got to take care of this place while you get to play Buffalo Bill in the woods.” His beard moved against her skin as he smirked. “Ouch. And here I thought you of all people would like to gut a deer one of these days.”

“Trying to channel your inner caveman?”

“Who knows, it could be very primal and pure. Wit versus brawn.”

“There's a lot of witty deer around here, I'm sure.”

It brought a small laugh to his lips before he dared to lightly nuzzle at her throat. “Have I told you how amazing you are?” She allowed herself to close her eyes but reopened them the instant he found a ticklish spot below her ear. “Not as often as I told you how utterly stupid you are.”

“That's probably true.”  
  
He drew back and began to whistle along to a tune on the radio. For a while, he just leaned against the counter and watched her stow away coarse ceramic ware into cupboards. “Can I help you?” She graced him with a sweet smile. “I thought you'd never ask.” As he started to move, her expression became dead-serious. “Get lost.” Bruce's countenance darkened. “Stop being so rude, I'm just trying to help.”

She proceeded to fling the damp towel at his face, but his reflexes were faster. Bruce caught the fabric out of the air with ease. Before she knew what was going on, he advanced on her in the small confines of the kitchen. Natasha's instincts were to grab the nearest kitchen knife, but then he started to tickle her sides. Her squealed scream got him to grin like a maniac. “A ticklish master assassin. Interesting.”

Hot rage burnt behind her eyeballs at his audacity. “Wait until I get my hands on the frying pan, then you're a dead man.” They continued roughhousing until he had her trapped from behind, arms pressed against her sides. Angered at his physical superiority, Natasha squirmed and writhed in his grip. Deep down she knew she could free herself, at the expense of doing real harm to several parts of his body, but she refrained.  
  
“Let go.”  
Her voice was winded, and she could feel and hear him breathing equally hard against her hair.  
“Say you're sorry for being rude and I will.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“You wouldn't want to see that.”

That comment made her laugh and stop struggling against him. It got him to release the tight ring his arms had around her, and she wiped her palms over her most likely red and puffy face. “Good Lord. Are you even real?” Bruce was still in close proximity to her and she heard him cough softly. “Thanks to you, I am. More than ever, even.” Bewildered, Natasha looked over her shoulder. “Huh?” His face was flushed, eyes open wide.  
  
“I love you.”

It was an odd, quiet confession. One that she encountered with a wide grin as she turned around to face him. “You mean Bobby loves his Masha.” Instead of laughing along, Bruce wet his lips and reached out to cup the side of her face. “I'm serious, Natasha. I love you.” Forcing down her beating heart she snorted. “You have a bad case of Stockholm syndrome. It'll pass.” Anger and hurt flickered up in his eyes.

“Why do you keep on shooting me down? After all that we've been through, I still can't get in there.” He pointed at a spot above her left chest. She slapped his hand away and pushed him hard in return, even if he did not waver. “Cause it's stupid, foolish, and won't lead anywhere. We're too different to make sense.” His nostrils flared. “Didn't you listen to what I just said? I've loved you ever since I laid my eyes on you in Monaco!”

“Correction. You mean you loved that you got laid in Monaco. You're confusing sex with love, darling.” For a stupid, fleeting moment Natasha thought he would be on the verge of bursting into tears. As it turned out, his eyes simply blazed with hurt and simmering anger. “That's not true and you know it.” She gave a bored-looking shrug. “I'm not what you'd like me to be, Bruce, sorry to burst your little bubble there.”

“I am old enough to decide that for myself, don't you think?”

“Another good point, age. I do see myself going for a younger guy with less wear and tear on his body.”

“Then why are you still here playing this warped version of 'Witness' with me?”

“Don't compare yourself to Harrison Ford in an Amish community. Ever read the book 'Misery'?”

“You and I both know there have been plenty other suitable situations for you to maim or kill me before.”

“Maybe I am a sadist who enjoys a challenge?”

“Maybe you are just scared because of all that's been done to you as a child.”

“Maybe you should shut the fuck up, Bruce.”

She hated the fact that her voice had hitched, and even more that he noticed he had just hit a sore spot. “Natasha...” She attempted to tear out of his proximity. “No!” Bruce reached out to grasp her wrist, applying enough force to not let her go but not enough to bruise. “I know about the Red Room.” The force of her crying and screaming fit that followed surprised even herself.

Bruce held her as she thrashed in his grip, screaming and cursing him in Russian and English until she was reduced to a sobbing heap. He then picked her up and carried her upstairs to bed and kept on caressing her hair as she pressed her face into the pillow. At some point, she then drifted off into a dreamless sleep. When she woke from an awful vision that included ballet and cold surgical instruments, he was gone.

 


	16. Chapter 16

Once Natasha blinked her eyes open the next time, it was 10:30. The house was quiet, so she got up, showered and dressed. The breakfast table was set for two, but it looked like he had not bothered to eat so far. Sounds from outside reached her ear, and she opened the front door to find him chopping firewood. The sun was out and his flannel shirt was off, tied around his waist.

It left him bare-chested, skin already glistening with sweat, as he wielded the ax over his head and down onto the chopping block with massive force. She crossed her arms, pushed the mosquito door open with a foot, and walked out onto the porch. “This is bad for your back.” The massive piece of lumber gave way with a loud crack. “But good for my head.” Undeterred, he put another heavy looking stump on the block.  
  
She tilted her head and leaned against the banister.  
  
“Why don't you go chop it off and save yourself a lot of trouble?”

“Not that bad of an idea.” He dropped the ax with a huge exhale, his broad chest heaving. “At least then I wouldn't be running circles in my mind when it comes to women.” Bruce was completely unaware of the way he looked as he wiped an arm over his forehead, and she willed her nefarious mind to stop drawing up raunchy scenarios. “Women? Honey, I am the only pair of tits you get to encounter around here in a 10-mile radius.”

At that, he clicked his tongue and stepped around the huge pile of freshly-chopped wood. “And I'm not complaining.” When he stood in front of her and openly ogled her chest with a leering grin, Natasha could smell a whiff of fresh male sweat. She inhaled deeply and forced a disgusted expression on her face. “Go wash up, you stink.” His bearded mouth twitched. “Yes, Ma'am.” He passed her by and pointed at the pile.

“Go help yourself.”  
  
~

Summer was slowly turning into Autumn, and the forest around them was a beautiful canvas of orange, red and yellow. Seeing the air was still warm enough in the evenings, they decided to sit outside on the porch, in a silence that should be odd but was comfortable instead. Natasha's feet set the old wooden swing into motion. Bruce had invested a lot of time and splinters in his hands before he had been able to repair it.

The colorful way he had cursed at the inanimate object whenever he thought he was alone had made many of her days. As they sat and regarded the idleness of the lake at their feet, Natasha watched a small spider making its way along her armrest of the porch swing. She put out a finger and allowed the arachnid to cross the distance over onto the wooden banister of the balustrade.

“With a little help from your friends?” Bruce's voice sounded amused, and she chose to leave his stupid question unanswered. Too late she then realized that she had forgotten to remove the wedding band from her finger, so she balled her hands into fists and shoved them into the pockets of her oversized hooded sweater jacket, away from his possible scrutiny.

When large colonies of bats had taken to the skies above them, she stole a cheeky glimpse at her now silent, thoughtful companion. “Looks like someone's got itchy feet himself. Getting all maudlin there, bat brain?” His gaze stayed locked on the swirl of red and violet hues that dominated the sky at dusk. “The time will come when Gotham will need the Batman again, and I'll be ready to answer the call.”  
  
Her groan lacked true malice. “God, listen to you. You're so pathetic.” He only smiled, with a wisdom too young to have mastered, and turned to look at her. “Someday you'll run out of reasons to mock me.” Natasha leaned in with slow, seductive motions. He, too, moved, until their faces were inches apart. “Groveling isn't a good look for you, B.” His eyes darted from hers to her smirking mouth and back. And narrowed.

“The condescending bitch tape is getting old, too, Nat.” Much to his surprise, she broke into a real laugh and drew back. Bruce studied her with skepticism until she punched his upper arm. “You're making progress at last.” Now his expression spoke of bewilderment. “You're honestly turned on by foul language?” Natasha pulled her knees close to her chin and snorted. “Shut up and don't ruin the moment.”  
  
She focused her attention back on the lake and ignored the way he kept on studying her profile.

The small spider had already begun to weave its net in between two wooden spindles of the railing.

~

That night, Natasha jolted awake after an especially grueling dream. She was caught in a huge spider's web, and the big black widow was spinning a solid cocoon around her that crushed her body and prevented her from being able to breathe. With a feeling of suffocation on her lips and lungs, she sat up with a loud gasp. The darkness of her bedroom only added to the feel of being trapped, so she fumbled for the light switch.

It was a little before 2 am, and the air outside of her blanket was chilly. Turning the lights off again after a few moments, she then put her bare feet on the ground and stood up. After using the restroom and washing her face with moderately cool water, she tiptoed back down the cold, wooden floors of the corridor. In front of his room, she paused. Something made her reach for the doorknob and twist it around.

The door opened without a sound, and for a few moments she just lingered there, in the doorway, and listened to the sound of his soft breathing. About to turn around and leave after a few seconds, Natasha stopped when she heard him inhale deeply. “Stay here.” His voice was low and rough from sleep and made her hesitate, doorknob still in hand. She did not see his face but heard the blankets rustle.  
  
“Bad dream?”  
  
All of a sudden, Natasha felt like a complete fool. “No, I... it's best if I...” The mattress creaked. “Slip in, come on.” By then, her eyes had adjusted enough to be able to make out the silhouette of his upper body as he sat up. She scowled on instinct as she walked over to his bedside. “Just don't get any funny ideas.” He gave a humorless smile and reached out to make sure the blanket fully covered her before he laid down again.

“Never.”  
The smell of his shower gel, and something Natasha could not identify but knew was him, were annoyingly comforting.  
She fell asleep with him spooning her, face buried in her hair and his arm around her waist.

~

SHIELD found them on a crisp and sunny morning, seven and a half months after their initial arrival.

Bruce and Natasha sat up ramrod straight in his bed when the door burst open to reveal a dozen of armed, masked men in uniform who pointed rifles at them. There was a lot of shouting, then Bruce moved like lightning to take down as many of them as he could in his current get up of boxer shorts and shirt. They struck him down with some sort of electric taser, and that was when Natasha knew it was over.

“Agent Romanov.”

The leader of the STRIKE team lowered his rifle as he addressed her, and she recognized the SHIELD emblem on his jumpsuit. “What is this about?” She looked back over to where six men had wrestled Bruce's limp form up and onto his knees, urging him at gunpoint to keep his hands behind his head. A familiar figure strode in before the STRIKE leader had time to explain. Natasha all but exhaled.  
  
“Was this really necessary, Clint?”  
  
Behind her, Bruce narrowed his eyes, watching their exchange. Barton shrugged and looked around. “Not my idea, Nat.” His eyes found Bruce but he was quick to focus back on her. “You alright?” She rolled her eyes. “Are you nuts? A STRIKE team?” Clint gave a cheeky shrug. “Fury's been very adamant about bringing you back safely. You've been gone for almost a year.” Her jaw clenched. “I had it under control.”

“That's what I told him, too, but he's got work for you. Something that sounds right up your alley.”  
Black Widow briefly closed her eyes, inhaled. With a deep exhale, she reopened them and nodded.  
“Then what are we waiting for?”

“ _Natasha!”_

Barton turned around mid-stride to look at the bearded man who was still on his knees in a military prisoner position, face twisted with both despair and disbelief. Clint then cocked his head at her stoic, unmoving profile. “Who's that?” Natasha pulled the ring off her finger in one swift move and dropped it on the floor. They walked out side by side, over to where an advanced looking Quinjet waited on the clearing.

“Nobody.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

Being back in the high life was harder than she admitted to herself at first. Being around another man by the name of Bruce was even harder, and Natasha hated it; quickly going over to just calling him Banner. He and Tony Stark had teamed up and became science buddies at the new-found Avengers' Tower while Thor was back in Asgard, and Clint had made use of the opportunity to take some downtime for himself.

When Bruce Wayne, too, officially returned to the land of the living, she muted all of her news feeds and channels. He nevertheless managed to send her a simple white envelope without having to use the local mail office. Inside was a folded piece of paper, with his neat handwriting on it, only reading one sentence.

_For all of your troubles and expenses_

Another slim piece of paper was inside the folded Wayne Enterprise stationery. A check worth $ 450,000. Natasha ripped all of it into as many little pieces as possible and flushed the remains down the drain, her heart and soul blazing with the fire of a thousand suns.

_'How dare you go and humiliate me like that.'_

She had never been more glad for when SHIELD approached her with a new mission, just like Clint had told her. Natasha instantly said yes. Together with Steve Rogers and a counter-terrorism STRIKE team, she was going to resolve a hostage situation involving pirates aboard a SHIELD vessel somewhere on the Indian Ocean.

Natasha was really looking forward to working again after a long period of inactivity. Getting out of country also seemed the best thing to take her mind off of things, and to give her many opportunities to use her gun on the bad guys. That way she could go and pretend it was his idiotic playboy head with that obnoxious, perfectly coiffed hair she was aiming at.

~

Oh, the pain of sweet betrayal.

Black Widow -assassin and spy extraordinaire- had to admit it struck pretty hard once she came to learn Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD like sickening cancer from the inside. She and Steve both learned their lesson, but neither was prepared for the arrival of the Winter Soldier. To Steve, it was the shock of coming face to face with who once used to be his best friend Bucky. To Natasha, it was meeting an old colleague of hers.

The Winter Soldier had played a vital part in completing her Black Widow Ops program training. He had supervised many of her combat and espionage lessons at the Red Room Academy. They had never gotten closer, though, because the Winter Soldier was kept in constant cryostasis otherwise. After being equipped with mental implants during sensory deprivation, he had been molded into the perfect assassin.

The perfect assassin who did not remember her or Steve Rogers as he went into ambush mode.

From the moment he latched onto their Chevy and ripped out the wheel, Natasha's body was on autopilot. The highway battle had her running for her life as he emptied clip after clip into the car wrecks strewn everywhere until she approached him in a face to face combat. And got shown the ropes. Hard. The pain as he shot her through the shoulder was hot and searing, but her autopilot mode was still intact.  
  
She managed to lift and fire a nearby grenade launcher before she sunk to the ground, dazed, and watched from a distance how Steve and Sam were too busy fighting the Winter Soldier to notice how she was on the opposite side of the street, basically bleeding out against an upturned, navy-metallic Impala. _'Get away from here. Out of the line of fire. Move, stay conscious, move. Don't close your eyes. Move.'_

Teeth pressed together, Natasha tried to get back on her feet, but her equilibrium was not cooperating. She resented to crawling along on the street instead until her vision became tunnel-like and she had to put her forehead against the cool asphalt underneath. _'Okay, just a minute. Rest a minute and then keep going.'_

A dull and thunderous noise from above made her shield her eyes from the dust that whirled through the air. Two massive turbines protruded from each side as the mysterious, carbon-black vessel went into the motion of a vertical landing right there in the middle of the street, putting itself between her and the ongoing fight. The last thing she saw was a black cape wafting behind a lone figure emerging from the monstrosity.

 ~

Blackness faded to grayness.   
  
Grayness became a dull throbbing pain until consciousness demanded her. The massive thrum of an engine was far too loud in her ears, and she fidgeted at the unpleasant sound. “Stay still. You have lost a fair amount of blood.” The dark, raspy voice was oddly comforting, but Natasha figured that just was her woozy state of mind. “Missed me, eh?” He did not reply to her croaked out quip. She did not expect him to.  
  
Her eyelids were heavy, and with nothing hurting for the moment, she succumbed to the lure of a drug-induced sleep.

 


	18. Chapter 18

The second time she woke, Natasha was less foggy-brained, but sore beyond belief. That time, everything was quiet and smelled pleasant; not of kerosene but of crisp detergent, faint firewood, and heavy furniture. Eyes still closed, she reached under what were fluffy blankets, found a thick gauze bandage around her shoulder, and discovered she was wearing some sort of oversized shirt.

On closer inspection, it turned out to be a nightgown made from very soft fabric. The unsettling thought of him undressing her in a state of unconsciousness was quickly cast aside as her eyes opened and roamed around what was an ancient-looking bedroom with high ceilings, massive brocade curtains, and furniture that must have been older and more expensive than anything she had ever owned.

After a couple of minutes, a door could be heard opening and closing in the back of the large chamber. When he entered her field of vision, Natasha's addled mind marveled at his tight t-shirt, accurate haircut, and clean-shaven face. Out loud, she groaned, to which the muscles on his forehead displayed a frown. “How do you feel?” It amused and impressed her at the same time just how impassive the rest of his face remained.  
  
“Thirsty and run over by a bus.”

Bruce turned to the nightstand. A clink and the sound of water being poured, then he handed her a glass. Natasha winced when she tried to prop herself up, and instead just raised her head best way she could. He did not make a move to come to her assistance, other than taking the glass from her when it was empty.

“This is your place I take it?”

He nodded and straightened back up to his whole height. It made her feel small and vulnerable, but she figured that was exactly what he wanted to achieve. “It's like a museum. How can you stand living here?” Bruce's thin lips curled into something akin to a haughty sneer, albeit still as mild-mannered as possible. “It's no small cabin with mosquito swarms at dusk and a dwindling suction strainer, but I'll manage.”

Despite her headache, she had to smirk. “Point for you. How did you get out of Michigan?” At that, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark chinos and strode over to look through the sliver of open curtains. “You left your aircraft behind.” Natasha tried to shift once again, favoring her good side. “You can fly a Quinjet?” He threw her a look that spoke volumes. She made a humming sound.

“Congratulations on wiring a StarkTech exclusive. I need it back before Tony sues me for corporate espionage, though.”  
Bruce took his hands out of his pockets and looked away.  
“I'll have Alfred bring in something to eat.”  
~

The road to recovery turned out to become two short-lived days, seeing Natasha needed to get back on track. Sam and Steve were probably assuming the worst, and there was a criminal organization to be stopped. Bruce did not attempt to make her stay and only provided her with a new, clean set of clothes. They walked along the perfectly trimmed lawns of Wayne Manor, headed for where he had stashed the Quinjet.

All Natasha could think about was how even the botanic gardens back in her hometown Volgograd were smaller than his premises. Passing the parking lot, she stopped at the sight of his private motor pool. “You really own a Lamborghini Aventador.” He followed her gaze. “It's a replacement for the Murciélago.” It sounded indifferent and prompted her to snort out loud. “Elitist jerk.”

Her acid remark caused Bruce to walk on, shoulders stiff and head held high, prompting her to follow suit. “You never cashed in the check. Why?” His voice was still flat but held a baiting undertone. It caused her to snort in true, jeering fashion. “Cause I am not a hooker?!” Gravel crunched under his feet as he stopped walking. His angular face darkened. “I thought you were smarter than that, Natasha.”

And there, at the bottom of a massive flight of lithic stairs in front of his ridiculously oversized manor and its ostentatious sports cars and motorbike collection, Natasha pulled a gun on him. One that he had not bothered to check for inside her old, bloodied clothes. “Yeah? So how's this for smart, pretty rich boy?” All emotionless, his eyes nevertheless spoke of disappointment and reproach. “I don't get you.” She tilted her chin.  
  
“And you never will.”

Bruce Wayne blinked once, then twice, and lowered his gaze with a deep exhale. He then spread his arms open wide, and when they found her face again, his eyes were lifeless. “So shoot. Get it over with, once and for all.” Her index finger did twitch, but it was her thumb that moved up to put the safety lock back on. “I'm not wasting my bullets on your kind.” Open contempt shone back at her, more than he ever bestowed upon her before.  
  
“Should have taken the money. Your kind could have put it to good use.”  
  
The swift move of unlocking her gun and firing all happened in the blink of an eye. As the echo of the gunshots rang out through the air, a flock of black birds rose from a bare tree with loud, crowing sounds. Natasha lowered her gun and locked it once more. Bruce had not moved an inch from his position. Five bullet holes now described a neat, single line square across the Aventador's shiny gray metallic hood.

His steely gaze turned from the car back to her, cold as ice and full of simmering resentment. “Go. Leave.” High up on a balcony of the manor, she caught a glimpse of his butler. The dismay he regarded her with stung, even at a distance. Wordless, she turned around and began to walk down the gravel path alone, headed for the aircraft that stood waiting.

Natasha Romanov left Gotham City before dawn.

~

Black Widow was just in time to aide Nick Fury in killing Alexander Pierce and stopping his Hydra regime from launching a Helicarrier attack on the public. The database Pierce had unlocked was going to leak a lot of classified information, but while the files were being uploaded, she hesitated at one name. Exposing Hydra to the public was one thing. Exposing Bruce Wayne's secret identity was another, so she pressed 'delete'.

One simple click to erase some of her guilt she did not remember to own. She figured it would be the only good thing she would ever be able to do for him, after messing up the rest. Head held high, Natasha Romanov then appeared before a Senate subcommittee to defend the dismantling of SHIELD. A two-hour session that was broadcasted live on TV later, she walked out as a free citizen.

_'All covers blown. Time to find a new identity. I don't particularly like being me anymore, anyhow.'_

 


	19. Chapter 19

After everything had been said and done, Natasha found herself waking up each morning with a growing urge to get away, fade away, into faceless anonymity. The flight to Michigan was low-key, as was renting a car at Calvin Campbell Municipal Airport. She drove down I-75 N and reached her destination 15 minutes later. The Jeep rumbled along bumpy patches of soil and lawn until it came to a standstill on a makeshift driveway.

A black Maserati was parked right in front of the dark and deserted-looking cottage. Its license plate also indicated a rental car, and the corners of Natasha's mouth twitched. _'Trust him to be an earlier bird to my early bird.'_ Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel as she forced herself to make up her mind and her heartbeat to return to normal. Exhaling deep, Natasha then got out, locked the SUV, and straightened up.

Her eyes skimmed along the faded facade of the old house and spotted a small, crooked wooden sign that read 'For Sale' in the front yard. It stung seeing it there, and she quickly passed it by, heading for the lake. The ground was brittle and littered with brown leaves that crunched under her feet. As expected, she found him down at the far end of the small landing stage, amid an eerie halo of steam fog raising from the water.

His tall, dark physique in a fitted black overcoat was a stark contrast to the raw and picturesque scene. Natasha slowed down her steps, even though she knew he had long since been aware of her presence. The fact that he did not turn around made her feel trusted, then ignored, so she could not help but dish out a jibe. “You of all people should know to always mind your surroundings.”

Her boots creaked on old wooden panels as she came to stand next to him with a strong urge to look at his face. He remained unmoving, hands hidden in the pockets of his woolen coat. “Wanted to push me in again?” His toneless reply made her tsk. “Toyed with that idea, but only briefly. You're just too stubborn to drown.” Bruce's clean-shaven profile still showcased no emotions whatsoever.  
  
“I wouldn't be too sure about that.”  
  
Part of her wished he would meet her gaze and stop staring at the damn lake. It fueled her underlying anger. “Oh please, spare me the drama. Whom do you think you owe your ongoing secret identity status to?” Her eyes darted over the way his upturned collar framed his sharp jawline and the way his mouth twisted into something akin to mockery. “That's a bit pretentious to take credit for, even for you.”

Natasha did not know what irked her more – the fact that he kept on looking at the water, or that he believed she was lying to him about protecting his identity. “SHIELD had the intel, you fool. Believe it or not, I know what I've seen.” His smile became serene, which made her even more irate. After a few moments, during which his jaw worked, he sighed. “Then, I suppose, I should say thank you.”

It was not meant to be sarcastic, even if she wished it was; just to give her something to chafe against. “Oh, fuck you! You and your goddamn holier-than-thou attitude always pissed me off!” At that, he finally turned to face her. An expensive-looking scarf was tied around his neck, making him look very aristocratic and old money. A strong autumn breeze blew across the lake just then and mussed up their hair.

While she brushed some loose strands aside he remained unfazed, regarding her with weary, dull eyes. “I get it, Natasha. It's me. You cannot stand the thought of me. You'd only be in for it if it was Crawford Malone, Batman, or Robert Kane - it doesn't matter who, just as long as it's not Bruce Wayne. Believe me, I understand now. It took me a while, but rest assured I won't be getting in your way again. I mean it.”  
  
She blinked and frowned deeply at both the direction his train of thought and their conversation had taken. “Then why did you come here?” Bruce looked down at his feet. “To say goodbye.” Her eyes narrowed. “You couldn't know that I was going to come.” His smile turned plaintive as he found her gaze. “You're right, I couldn't. But I did want to see this place one more time.” His gaze then traveled across the lake once again.

“Looking back, it's been the most carefree time I spent in the past few years.”  
  
She wanted to laugh in his face, wanted to tell him he was being oh so melodramatic and ridiculous, but she could not. There suddenly was a lump in her throat; so big that it undermined all of her well-trained snark and cynicism. “What will you do now?” At her quiet, subdued question, Bruce blinked the faraway longing from his eyes and squared his broad shoulders. “What I always do.” With a soft rustle of the fabric, he freed his hands.

They came up to clasp her upper arms, and she let him. Their eyes darted in between each other for the longest time, then Bruce gave a gentle squeeze to her shoulders. “Take care of yourself.” The kiss he put to her forehead felt even more of a goodbye than his words. He turned and began to walk away with slow, circumspect strides, not once looking back; long coat wafting around his broad physique.

Natasha remained frozen to the spot, the sharp autumn winds biting and tearing at her skin as she watched him disappear.

~

All that BS about pain making you stronger only made Natasha laugh. Her pain was good and real, and who cared if it made her bitter, angry, and cruel? That was the way the Black Widow operated best. Except for when she was foolish enough to try and kindle a fire between her and Doctor Banner, of all people.

Wayne and he could not have been any more different; heck, even Natasha herself knew she and the small scientist were the least compatible people anyone would dare to play matchmaker for, but at least he was called Bruce. She went from Banner to Bruce in less than a day, together with an invitation to lunch.

_'God, really? I am more than pathetic.'_

Bruce Banner was considerably confused about her out-of-the-blue advances, and, in the end, reacted the way any man with gamma-ray exposure and a very wild, green side would. He balked and fled. But first things first. Everything began when Tony Stark went to mess up more than he ever had messed up before.

That was the time of Ultron.

The time of fighting against a sheer unstoppable army of Iron Legion sentries in a city raised into the sky by Vibranium-powered machines. The time the Avengers were about to die once the city was going to be exposed to gravity and drop like a dead weight, turning into a deadly meteoroid to erase half of mankind.

High up there, with Sokovia floating above the clouds, an eerie sense of fulfillment flooded Natasha's senses. To die there was not the worst way to go. Room with a view, in a warped sense. She blamed it on altitude and the thinning air when a part of her wondered if he was watching the whole thing on the news.

_'Not what you've meant when you told me to take care of myself, huh?'_

The Helicarrier Nick and Maria managed to scrounge up out of nowhere then changed the whole game in the blink of an eye. In the end, the Avengers won, Ultron got defeated, and Nick Fury said he had a great team. It was none other than Natasha Romanov who then reminded him that nothing lasted forever. Part of her wondered why that familiar strategy of hers suddenly sounded so bitter and stale in her mouth.

 


	20. Chapter 20

The time post-Ultron found her seeking out true solitude. Why Natasha's mind was still associating it with Michigan she had no rational idea, but there she went. Indian River welcomed her on a misty late afternoon with empty streets. Pebble crunched under the wheels as she pulled up on the newly graveled driveway. Much to her surprise, the 'For Sale' sign was gone. Instead, there was a dark-gray Land Rover parked up.

She turned off the engine, unbuckled, and stepped out to examine things from close up. A neat hawthorn hedge had been planted, and the whole cottage looked like it had finally received a much-needed paint job. Its siding was now a neutral beige with light gray trims and the front door new; made of solid, dark wood.

Warm lights illuminated the first floor, and something in her stomach churned as Natasha imagined a small family with kids bustling around, setting the table for dinner. The urge to bolt became too strong to handle, but just then a light on the porch came off; a motion sensor system that also had not been installed before. Natasha had almost made it back to her car when the door opened.  
  
“Ran out of gas?”  
Her hand slid off the door handle in slow motion as she briefly closed her eyes.  
“You bought it.”

Natasha's voice was rough. She swallowed and proceeded to turn around in what she hoped was a casual manner. He looked the same as always, except for his attire of jeans and flannel. Bruce then gave a noncommittal tilt of the head. “It was a real bargain.” She opted for her usual sarcasm. “Who knew you had it in you. The whole Bob the Builder schtick.” Bruce said nothing and only regarded her with that same, infuriating silence.

With one glimpse up into the skies, he then he stepped aside.

“Come on in, it's going to start raining soon.”

~

Inside, not a lot had changed, much to Natasha's surprise. The windows had been mended and sealed, and a huge, vintage looking leather couch sat in the living room. Bruce went to the kitchen and left it to her to follow him. The old gas range had been replaced with a newer model, as had the fridge. “Do you come here often?” She slipped into 'her' old chair overlooking the room and watched him prepare two mugs of tea.  
  
“If time permits.”

He did not look her way while he stood and waited for a new electric kettle to boil. Once done, Bruce poured them two cups and put one in front of her on the kitchen table. Out of instinct, Natasha's ice cold hands cupped the stoneware and inhaled a steam of herbal infusion that curled up and invaded her nostrils. “You have been in Sokovia.” A tilt of her head caused a few loose strands of red to fall in her face.  
  
“ _On_ Sokovia, you mean. Got my head in the clouds, literally.”  
  
Bruce stared down into his own mug and dipped the teabag in, index finger playing with its string. When he did raise his eyes, they were dark and unreadable. “Why did you come here?” She flashed him her best, crooked smile. “Oh, you know. At 18,000 feet, there are a lot of funny things running through your head.” The cynicism failed to load. Instead, it came out as an embarrassing choked up mumble.

Her brows knitted together and she busied herself raising the still steaming hot mug to her mouth, burning her lips. Bruce got up to hunker down in front of her. He put his palms on top of her knees, and she could feel how warm they were through the fabric of her pants. “Natasha.” It was said without any rebuke or any kind of judgment. She hated how it made her throat even tighter. “I DON'T know why, okay?”

Even to her own ears, it sounded like the most petulant, childish thing to say. He exhaled and rose from his position. “Feel free to stay for the night. It's supposed to rain heavily for the next hours, the streets will be flooded.”

~

The sound of rain pelting on the roof of her old room was reassuring, as was the smell of faint lavender on crisp linen sheets. Nevertheless, Natasha woke a little after 1:30. Tossing and turning on the ergonomic mattress also brought no relief, so she succumbed and slung the covers back. There was a new, unused terry cloth robe for guests in the closet and she slipped it on, sinking deep into the plush fabric.

On quiet feet, she stepped down the stairs to the first floor and opened the patio door.

The whole house lay dark and quiet. She meandered along wooden panels, her hands on the massive banister. The old, choppy paint had been meticulously removed, and several layers of wood conditioner now gave it a smooth feel under her palms. It was too dark for her to make out anything except for hearing the rainfall, but Natasha imagined the turmoil on the surface of the lake and the patterns the torrent created.

A soft cough, more out of courtesy than necessity, announced his presence.  
  
“Couldn't sleep?”  
She drew her shoulders a little higher and hummed.  
“What if the lake overflows?”  
  
He moved to stand behind her and glimpsed over her shoulder. “Unlikely. Water level's been low for the past few months.” Natasha suppressed a small shiver and felt him step closer to offer some kind of shelter. He did not attempt to touch her, however, until she initiated body contact by leaning into him. “Dry spell?” It took several heartbeats until his arms found their way around her shoulders and made her revel in his warmth.  
  
“Kind of.”  
  
His voice was a low rumble that she felt against her back rather than hearing it. They stood in silence for a little while, neither daring to say a word to break the magic of the moment. At some point, Bruce dared to lightly rest his chin atop the crown of her head. When she did not object, he tightened his arms around her. “I missed you.” She took her time in finding an answer. “I missed him, too.” At that, she felt him tilt his head.  
  
“Whom?”  
  
“Bruce Wayne. The real deal, not the idiot playboy.”  
  
The sound he made was a breathed-out laugh. “You've never met him.” Her eyes crinkled in fond reminiscence. “Oh, but I did. He can't cook to save his life, loves to swim the lake despite its shrinky dink temperatures, can wield an ax like he is a closeted mass-murderer, and needs a whole pack of lag bolts to repair a puny little porch swing. Not to forget he gets drunk on PBR and made me dance at a hoedown barn bash once.”

Wordless, Bruce spun her around, grabbed her face between his large hands and kissed her with vigor.

She responded in an instant, hands coming up to rest on his chest. In between kisses, he pressed his forehead to hers while his fingers raked through her hair. “Why haven't you told me? Back then?” Another set of frantic kisses interrupted any potential answer she might have had. When she was able to come up for air, she gulped but kept her expression as levelheaded as possible and only cocked an eyebrow.

“You know what they say, about reevaluating your life's choices and such. Besides, I am also deeply convinced Bruce Wayne gives the best head I've ever experienced in my life.” From close up, Natasha could see his hooded eyes darting in between hers, full of confusion and barely coated desire. Bruce then swallowed, hard. “I never know whether you're pulling my leg or not.”

She reached down to cup his crotch through the thin fabric of his pajama pants and enjoyed the little flinch he gave. “Shut up and move. My feet are getting cold.” With an air of ease, he lifted her into his arms and carried her inside, up the stairs, and into his room. They made love for the rest of the night, giving him plenty of possibilities to thoroughly prove her theory.

 


	21. Chapter 21

The next morning she woke in his arms, bare as can be, and felt no reason to bolt for the first time. He was just as gloriously naked as she was, and from the looks of it, awake for a longer time he had spent watching her. His hair was a tousled mess, and his eyes shone with an emotion he had never displayed before. Serenity. Embarrassed at everything and nothing at the same time, Natasha rubbed at her face.

“Stop staring at me.”

“Why? You're beautiful.”

“Not like this.”

Bruce freed one hand from her back and lightly brushed two fingers along her temple.

“Especially like this.”

“Old sap.”

He put up a mock-taxing glare that softened within seconds. “Reminds me of which - there's something I wanted to give you.” He scrambled out of their warm refuge, leaving her to fasten her eyes on his well-built posterior while he reached for something inside the pocket of his jacket that hung over a nearby chair. “Here.” A small box landed on her blanketed lap. Bruce then resumed his place and slid back under the covers.  
  
“I wasn't sure if you wanted it back or not.”

With a rotten look at the way he had propped his head up on one arm and regarded her with an almost impish excitement, she flipped the lid open. Inside was her cheap rhinestone wedding ring. Before her glare could become any more deadly, Bruce pointed his chin at it. “Look inside.” Glad for not having to speak with her throat doing that stupid constricted thing again, Natasha tilted the small item.

There was a line engraved, reading _'Любовь - кольцо. Начало нет и нет конца.'._

“You stupid fuckhead.”  
Her voice had taken on a very nasal, stuffed tone. Bruce leaned in and pecked her cheek.  
“I love you, too.”  
  
She held the band up in between two fingers and averted his intense gaze. “I don't want people to think I'm married, let alone with... this.” At that, another little box landed in her lap. “Which is why I also brought this along.” To an offensively smug grin on his part, she lifted the mint-colored Tiffany lid to a silver necklace inside. Her stupefied expression prompted Bruce to scoot into a sitting position and take both items from her hands.

“May I?”  
  
She watched him string the ring on the chain before he motioned for her to turn around. After fastening the delicate clasp in the back of her neck, Bruce placed a feather-like kiss upon her nape and reappeared in her line of view. “Think this works.” He sounded content. Natasha dipped her head low to watch the pendant dangling from her neck.

Something must have played on her face because Bruce put two fingers under her chin and gently tilted it up. “Too much? Alfred said I should have bought a pair of earrings first, but...” Clear confusion lurked in the depths of his deep-set, possessive eyes. She pulled her knees close to her chest and cupped them. “I can never have kids.” It was blurted out of nowhere and she left it at that.

Bruce said nothing at first, then cocked his head and pursed his lips. “It's not like I lead a life suitable to raise children either.” She cast him a sideways glance filled with a small dose of her usual snark and cynicism. “ _You_ are a billionaire. _You_ could have dozens of nannies while you're out there cross-dressing as a bat.” Natasha jumped when one of his long fingers poked into her bare flank. “Still bold as brass I take it.”

His way of lightening up the situation got her to slip out of her brief moment of weakness. She smirked. “Honey, no matter how good you are with your tongue, I'll always know how to use mine just right.” He sucked hard on her neck to leave a mark just above the necklace before he breathed in her ear. “All talk and no action.” So she went to prove it to him until he was reduced to a moaning, writhing mess in between the sheets.

~

Later on, when they decided to head down to town to buy groceries for the time of their stay, Natasha demanded to pay Jerry Griffin at his motorboat shop a visit. The elderly was full of honest delight. “Bobby! Masha! Long time no see! Heard someone's bought yer place and was all worried, y'know?” Bruce, who was holding Natasha's hand after cheekily telling her it was all for the make-believe, gave a proud smile.

“I did. Finally made enough money to go for it.”

Jerry's whole face lit up. “Golly gosh, congratulations! And business round here's slower than ever. I gotta close the shop soon if it doesn't get better. Such a friggin shame, I don't wanna spend the rest of my life playin bingo at a senior's cafe.” Something moved on Bruce's strong features. He reached into the pocket of his faded jeans and pulled out a small card. “Might wanna give this number a call. Heard these guys are hiring.”

Bruce aka Bobby pushed the card in Jerry's rough hands, and Natasha's eyes narrowed when they recognized the WayneSteel logo. Jerry regarded the card before his weathered features morphed into sincere enthusiasm. “Huh, I might just go 'n do that.” When they drove back to the cabin, they got into another heavy downpour. Over the low, constant swiping noise of the windshield wipers, Bruce glimpsed at his silent passenger.

“What's on your mind?”

Natasha kept her gaze on the empty road. “You believe that Jerry's not going to find out who you really are?” He pulled a face. “You're still not comfortable being with me.” She tsked. “I'm not comfortable blowing our cover with Jerry.” Bruce tapped two fingers against the steering wheel. “He did not even notice your hair's red instead of blonde.” 

“Fucking weak argument, Wayne.”

“Nat...”

“Don't call me Nat.”

“Okay. Nattie?”

“God, I hate you.”

“Hm. I, for one, love you.”

“Aww, Brucie.”

“On second thought...”

Her bout of satisfaction at her clever riposte did not last long. Natasha thus propped her left elbow up on the middle console and slid deeper into the leather seat. “I just think it was a dumb and unnecessary thing to do. Bruce Wayne needs to stop trying to fix people with all of his money.” At that, he did not say anything and only pressed his foot down a little harder on the accelerator.

They spent the rest of the drive in silence.

After he had brought his Land Rover to a rather harsh stop in front of the cottage, Bruce curtly told her to go and head inside while he took care of the grocery bags in the pouring rain. Once done, he flung the car keys onto the counter and unzipped his wet leather jacket with fervor.

“I'm sorry Bruce Wayne is such a public disappointment that you'd rather not be associated with him. Maybe you'd be better off with your fellow Captain America who is the nation's beacon of glory, or that little archer guy with the witty streak and the perpetual believe in what's in his quiver.” Before he could walk past her, Natasha grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and slammed him hard against the kitchen counter.

“Steve Rogers has the hots for Sam Wilson, Clint Barton has a wife and two-and-a-half kids, and you are an obnoxious, godawful sonofa...”  
  
His fierce kiss succeeded in shutting her up. When he pulled back, Bruce wore a smile far too smug to belong to him. “Oh, I know. I just love to see you getting all worked up.” The pair of scissors barely missed his head as she threw them his way. It got stuck in the wall next to the fridge instead, and Bruce Wayne purposely left it in there during the remaining time of their stay.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Любовь - кольцо. Начало нет и нет конца. - Love is a ring. There is no beginning and there is no end.  
> (I am aware this is most likely butchered/abbreviated from the original saying, but bear with me nonetheless)


	22. Chapter 22

When their return to civilization was inevitable, Bruce headed to Gotham and Natasha to New York. Much to her surprise, the construction of the New Avengers' Facility upstate of the Big Apple had already been completed. During her first on-site visit, she bumped into the designer. “I'm gone for a couple of days, and this happens?” Tony Stark bounced a little back and forth on his heels as if itching to leave.

The genius inventor had become snippy and irritable over the past months, ultimately connected to his breakup with Pepper Potts. After Ultron, Tony thus had told Steve he would be laying low, so seeing him around had become a rare occurrence. “Meh, it's just like rearranging furniture, nothing more. But speaking of gone - where've you been?” In true fashion, Natasha cast him one of her most underwhelmed looks.

“None of your business, Stark.” They walked out to where his latest, orange beast of an Audi R8 stood waiting for him. He gave a mirthless grin. “Touchy, touchy aren't we?” She glimpsed at her watch and back at him. Tony had slipped on annoying shades she was mirroring in. “Maybe I have a private life?” That made Stark perk up. Instead of getting into his car, he leaned over its open driver's door.  
  
“Oh! So who's your boyfriend then, Nat? Elmo?”  
It was then that her lips curled with sardonic glee.  
“No. Him.”

She pointed over to where a shiny red MV Agusta superbike had just pulled up at the curb with a smoothly performed drift and stop. Its driver did not bother to remove his helmet or switch off the engine, and Natasha strutted over to swing a leg over the bike and slip on behind him. To Tony Stark's dumbfounded and wary glance, she hooked her arms around her mystery man before they took off under loud revving.

~

Back in Manhattan, they made use of the brief time in between Bruce having to fly back home and Natasha having to get ready for her upcoming mission. Lying side by side in the king-size hotel bed, watching the Central Park panorama, she turned her head towards her sated-looking lover.

Like most times, Bruce looked like he had just survived a cage fight. Sweated and with massive bed hair, Natasha was proud of all the bite marks and scratches she had left on his body. In all fairness, he was also the one out of them who was able to look downright presentable again in less than fifteen minutes. “I need to head out as of tomorrow. Nigeria. Any souvenir wishes?”

Bruce shifted to be able to caress her bare thigh with a finger. “You in nothing but tribal war paint?” Natasha swatted his wandering hand away. “Or you could come along. We might need another hand out there.” His ministrations stopped in favor of him crossing his arms behind his head and looking up at the ceiling. “I cannot risk exposing myself. To any of them.” She leaned in until she loomed up over his face.

“Just show off your mean square dance skills and nobody will ever suspect a thing.” He bumped her shin with a toe. “Are you always this funny?” In return, she flicked a finger against the earlobe closest to her. “Have we met?” Bruce reached out and pulled her atop of him in one strong move. She growled and tried to break free, but he interlinked his hands in the small of her back and held her in place. "I don't know. You tell me."

Eventually, the trail of kisses along her throat made her stop struggling and lean into his ministrations. "Look who's talking, Stranger Danger." Smiling against her skin at his small victory, Bruce then cupped her rear. “I'll pick you up at the airport once you get back.”

~

The mission in Lagos ended up becoming a complete disaster for the New Avengers.

An uncontrollable explosion ripped into a hotel and killed eleven innocent people, leading to a worldwide outcry about the Avengers' jurisdiction. Natasha sent a text telling Bruce she needed to debrief first and how it ultimately would thwart his original plan to collect her at JFK Airport. At least Bruce was farsighted enough to reply with a room number at the Four Season's for Masha Kane to check in whenever she would be done.

After a downhearted, two-hour meeting with the Secretary of State back at their headquarters, she was too glad to enter the elevator of the posh hotel, headed for one of the so-called Manhattan suites on the 37th floor. As soon as she pushed the door into its lock, she saw him sitting in a wing chair by the window.

“Hard day?”  
  
From where he had been working on what looked to be a tablet in his lap, Bruce scanned her from head to toe before he placed the device aside and rose. Natasha dropped her duffel unceremoniously by the door and let out a huge breath. “Doesn't even begin to describe it.” He crossed the distance over to her with three long strides and invaded her mouth for a hungry kiss. She pushed against his chest and made a face.

“I smell. Bad.”  
With a roguish grin, Bruce dipped his head into the crook of her neck and inhaled for her to hear.  
“Mhm. I like it.”  
  
She tried to push him away, again to no avail. “You're disgusting.” His strong hands started to divest her of her jacket. “No, I am perfectly clean. But I could help wash your back.” A lengthy make-out session in the marble soaking tub followed by a steamy sexual encounter in the king-size bed later, she lay in Bruce's arms, inhaled the scent of his shower gel, and recapped the events of the past few hours.

“And that's the so-called Sokovia Accords. Ratified by 117 countries. We have to operate under a panel's supervision.” He snorted. “Sounds like a tight leash on your team's independence.” She ran a finger over his chest. “That's what Steve said, too, but there's a meeting in Vienna in three days. If all of us don't sign until then, we'll have to retire.” Bruce raised his head to be able to look her in the eye. A distinct wariness lay in his gaze.

“You'd be stupid to do that.”  
Natasha readjusted her head on his shoulder.  
“Tony said we need to be put in check.”  
  
“And the rest?”  
“Steve, Clint, and Wanda are still undecided.”  
For a while, neither of them said a word. Bruce eventually resumed running a hand along her arm.

“I'd stand with Rogers in this matter.”  
“There are no two sides here, this is still the Avengers we're talking about.”  
“The whole thing is going to blow in a matter of time, mark my words.”

“You're paranoid, Bruce, that's what.” Natasha sat up and shook off his hand with a resolute motion, to which he cast her a reproachful look. “Your Stark wants all 'enhanced individuals' to register and serve as a police force under the control of a UN panel. That's an issue of civil liberty, Tasha. I don't know about you, but I'd chafe at the idea of giving up my autonomy or, even worse, having to compromise my values.”

Her gaze flew past his face and out to where the skyline of New York glinted in the sundown.  
“I signed on as of today.”  
Bruce's eyes widened and he propped himself up on his elbows.

“You did what?!”

“You heard me.”

“Why aren't we speaking about this first?”  
  
The glance she threw him spoke of utter bafflement. “For what?” His brows knitted together as his expression darkened. “For deciding this together?” She could not help but laugh out loud at his incredulity. “Again: For what? You and I are not linked in any which way. I am free to do as I please.” He barked out some sort of laugh, albeit a cruel one, slung the covers back, and scooted out of her vicinity.

“I can't believe how utterly ignorant you can be.”

She watched him dig into a leather weekender bag that carried his initials and drew the sheets up higher to cover her own nudity. “It's called personal freedom, Bruce. Don't act like I owe you.” From where he yanked a fresh pair of boxer briefs up, Bruce then jabbed a finger into her direction. “You owe me nothing, but we are a couple. And every time we fix one thing, something else ends up breaking. Something like trust!”

Despite her state of undress, Natasha drew up the armor of self-defense tight around her heart and soul. “See? I told you so. It'll never work with us.” Bruce plopped down on the far end of the king-size mattress, damp bangs flopping into his face, and put on his socks with a grim tug around the mouth. “You're always so determined to protect yourself and your feelings, but what about me? Huh?”

Natasha rolled her eyes even if he did not look at her to witness it. “Oh, yes, the poor orphan from Gotham City who goes around at night and beats people up now talks feelings.” A flicker of hurt marred his angular features before he schooled them into a cold, passionless mask and stood up, reaching for his pants. “I should have listened to everyone who told me this was a bad idea.”

Angry at whoever 'everyone' was supposed to be, Natasha slammed a hand onto the spot of the mattress where he had laid his head just minutes ago. “Yes, you should have, because I’m going to keep on letting you down. I'll always let you down, so what made you stupidly think it was going to be any different this time?” He briefly paused in buttoning his dark denims to shoot her a seething glare.

“That's what you excel in, don't you? I’ve never met someone who so easily destroys things the way you do.” His now booted feet stomped over to grab a long-sleeved polo shirt from its randomly discarded place on the chair in the corner. She mimicked his earlier, cruel laugh. “Quit trying to fix me when you need to fix yourself, Bruce.” Much to her surprise, he nodded, slipped the shirt over his head, and ran a hand through damp hair.

“Suit yourself. I'm done. I'm done trying so hard, only to have to wreck everything all at once. I’m so tired of forcing you to be in love.” She watched him fetch his jacket and weekender bag. Fighting down the urge to stop him, Natasha crossed her arms. “That's good, because I don’t need or love you, okay?! I never did!” His hand was already on the doorknob when Bruce's posture turned rigid for a split second.  
  
Then the door fell shut behind him with a soft click.

Natasha yanked the chain off her neck and flung it after him. It bounced soundlessly onto the carpeted floor while its owner began to pummel the next best pillow. In the end, remorse flooded her conscience, and she picked the innocent piece of jewelry up from the floor to stuff it deep down into the pocket of her jacket. Black Widow sat on the next flight to Vienna no more than two and a half hours later.

 


	23. Chapter 23

Meeting the prince of Wakanda and his father, King T'Chaka, was an interesting experience. T'Challa reminded Natasha of Bruce; in the regal way he held himself and chose his words with care. “Some of the victims in Lagos were from Wakanda.” At his challenging glance, she put up her most professional and detached smile, expressed her deepest sympathies, and left to take her place at the Vienna International Center.

Everything then happened too fast to understand. After T'Chaka had taken the podium to open the proceedings, a commotion outside made T'Challa perk up. His efforts in evacuating the whole room were noble but too late, and an explosion tore through the building, killing the sovereign right in front of their eyes. As sirens howled through the air, Natasha found herself wishing for Bruce to be by her side, only to chide herself.

_'I don't need him, goddammit.'_

Once she had made it back to her hotel, she nevertheless checked her messages on the one phone she ever dared to give him the number of. There were none, so she threw the device aside and went to take a shower to wash off the smell of sulfur. When she was toweled dry and wore a bathrobe, Natasha checked her phone again. One new message, albeit from Tony Stark, blinked on her screen.

It told her there had been a wild goose chase involving Steve, Sam, and the Winter Soldier, and they had been taken to the task force HQ in Berlin. Grabbing her small and worn suitcase from the closet, Natasha was all set in no more than ten minutes.

_'No rest for the wicked.'_

By the time she had reached the German HQ, things had already veered into escalation territory.

T'Challa was around, too, now in possession of a Vibranium-enhanced super suit that turned him into what was called the Black Panther, and Steve and Tony were on different sides when Tony told them of Secretary Ross' plans. There was talk about all of them being prosecuted, talk about Steve's shield and Sam's wings now being government property, and talk about the extradition of Barnes to a Wakandan jail.

Natasha felt the first stirrings of a headache coming up and left to get a strong cup of coffee to help with her wooziness. When she came back, Steve was adamant about not signing the accords, and the Winter Soldier had broken free to fight all of them. In the end, Rogers subdued his brainwashed old friend and fled the compound, leaving behind shambles of what used to be the Avengers, and Black Widow chose Team Iron Man.

Everything wrong thus culminated in the battle at Leipzig airport. During the melee of two sides that used to be one, tight team, Black Widow proved once more that deep down, she was still the double agent everyone, including herself, pegged her to be. One the one hand, she did not spare Clint too many bruises, but on the other hand, she was the one who allowed Steve and Bucky to escape in a Quinjet.

Inside the hangar, separated from the ruckus of the main fight that still raged on outside, Black Panther had just recovered from her widow bites set for stun and zeroed in on her. “Shouldn't have trusted a dirty spy.” He cornered her and they were engaged in a ruthless hand-to-hand fight moments later. Natasha was smart enough to realize she was inferior to him in close combat and thus tried different tactics.  
  
Much to her bad luck, the Panther was fast and agile, and one of his vicious roundhouse kicks sent her flying through the air, only to hit the ground with a dull thud. As she lay in the dirt, winded and clutching at a flesh wound on her thigh, he moved in again. Before he could reach her, however, something like a smoke grenade exploded right in his face. Natasha reopened her eyes after having braced herself for the worst.

Perplexed, the Panther tried to regain his vision as a deep, low growl reverberated through the air.  
  
“Leave her alone.”  
  
Both T'Challa and Black Widow craned their necks. High up on the rubble from the crashed-down tower hovered a dark, almost invisible creature. Adopting a wide fighting stance, Black Panther hissed at the disturbance. “Who are you to interfere with my business?” Nothing in the shadows seemed to move. Natasha's heart continued to thump hard against her ribcage. “Someone your size.”

With that, the Batman spread his cape wide and flung himself at his opponent, knocking him off his feet. The king of Wakanda and the prince of Gotham clashed hard, rolling and grappling and throwing punches in a fast-paced, unyielding, close combat. Black Panther's claws slashed deep down into carbon fibered plates. “You are foolish to think you can defeat me.”

The Dark Knight fought back undeterred, unconsciously taking the fight away from where Natasha had been staggering back to her feet. Her eyes flew up to where the fragile hangar construction creaked in foreboding doom. The two men underneath were still deeply engrossed in their vicious fight and completely oblivious to the impending danger from above.

“The roof!”

The split-second Bruce got distracted by her yell was enough for Black Panther to spring into another attack. He smashed him back into an askew metal beam that gave away under the Batman's heavy weight with a shudder and a screeching sound. Bruce rolled back to his feet in a smooth, unperturbed motion and lunged for the Panther. Black Widow started out into their direction, a sense of dread leading her steps.

After he had thrown T'Challa over his shoulder, the Batman cast one eye at the ceiling before he looked her square in the eye. “STAY BACK!” She did not follow his barked-out growl, to which Bruce then aimed his grapple hook weapon at her and fired. The claw-like metal caught her at the shoulder, and its high impact hurled Natasha backward through the air like a rag doll and speared her to the wall on the far end of the hangar.

From there, she saw the remaining, fragile roof structure give way with a sickening crunch of metal and concrete before it buried both men in an ear-deafening avalanche. “NO!” A huge cloud of dust and debris wafted her way, and she had to squeeze eyes and mouth shut until it had washed over her. Covered in dust, Natasha then yanked the hook out of her leather suit and dropped to the ground.

It had not done any serious damage to the skin under her armor, and she broke into a run. As she approached the wreckage, she saw T'Challa scramble out, albeit unsteady, and jump over the rubble to disappear on the other side. Not paying him any mind, she began to dig into the pile with frenzied, gloved hands. After pushing away debris and clawing at scraps she finally saw a piece of a black cape peeking out from down below.

“Hold on, I'm coming!”

Her voice was strained with exhaustion as Natasha pushed and shoveled more and more debris aside until she was able to grab a hold of his arms. He was face down, his armor coated in a thick, dusty sheen. She hoped and prayed his cowl had protected him after seeing it was still attached to his head in one piece. On her last strength reserves, Natasha pulled him free and turned him on his back.

His eyes were closed, and there was a red line running from inside the helmet down to where it got visible on his cheek and lips. With shaking fingers, Natasha probed for the hidden safety switch she knew would lift the cowl. While part of her feared to remove it, part of her feared he would not get enough oxygen if she left it on. She tore off her own gloves with her teeth to get a better grip on his head.

Bruce's hair was soaked wet with sweat and blood as she cradled it in her hand while the fingers of her free hand felt for a pulse.

_'Please...'_

It took a while until she found one, albeit weak and erratic. The jet-black camouflage paint around his eyes was smeared, and combined with his white pallor and a flowing trail of crimson from a deep laceration above his left ear, he looked nothing short of a zombie. Bruce still had not moved, his breathing coming out strained and labored, and Natasha blinked up into the solid wall that blocked their way out.  
  
“This is playing dirty. You don't get to die saving me after we broke up over the most ridiculous shit, you stupid, stupid...”  
Choking up on her words, she placed a hand square across the slashed chest plates and bit her lip until it was raw.  
She was still on her knees, cradling his head, when Iron Man cut through the rubble and found them.

 


	24. Chapter 24

The beeping of a heart monitor and the compressor of a breathing machine were an isochronic lull that drilled into the otherwise sterile silence of the room. Amid a multitude of machines and tubes, his head wrapped in thick, white gauze, Bruce Wayne lay, unmoving, and looked too fragile for someone his size. Next to him, Natasha Romanov sat, hands tucked under her chin, and watched him in stoic concentration.

The emergency unit at Leipzig hospital thankfully was less than two miles away from the airport. Despite her more than meager German skills and rather frantic state of mind, Natasha had managed to get her point across. Of course, it had required her getting rid of his armor, but at that point, she had been so far beyond caring that she only hid away the most prominent items like his cowl, cape, and gauntlets.

_'Who cares what those damn German doctors think.'_

She kept on running a dirty thumb over the ring she had switched from her neck to her hand; for Masha Kane to able to stay close to her husband. Due to her earlier misuse, several rhinestones were missing, leaving only dark, empty spots in between tiny sharp prongs. On closer inspection, Natasha also discovered the dirt under her nails was dried blood; blood that was not her own. She forced herself to look away.

From the corner of her eye, she then noticed someone standing outside the door, peeking in through the small window. She pushed the chair back with one more glance at the still person in the bed and slipped outside. Tony Stark looked as shaken, bruised and battered as Natasha felt on the inside. She swallowed.

“How's Rhodes?”

“Stable, but I'm flying him out as soon as possible. There's better technical support back home.” He tilted his head at the room. “How is he?” She exhaled. “Three fractured ribs, an injured spleen, and severe bruising. Minor to moderate head trauma. They are not sure yet, so they've put him in a medical coma to be on the safe side. I don't know how long it will take.”

“I'm sorry.” Tony's thoughtful gaze fell upon the small window again. “I met him once, at a charity function, and thought to myself - what a nitwit. Who'd... have thought.” Natasha followed his line of view and felt for her ring again. “We're both not what you think we are.” Stark's soulful eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. “In any case, this is it. Make sure you'll stay out of this one from now on. Both of you.”

“Tony...”  
The lines and lacerations on his face became even harsher and more severe in the neon light from up above.   
“No. I don't want to know and I don't care. That's the best I can offer.”   
  
The medical smell engulfed her once she stepped back into the single bedroom and resumed her silent vigil. Half expecting Bruce to show any signs of consciousness, Natasha felt a brief surge of unwarranted disappointment at seeing no change in him. She gripped the headrest of the bed to lean over him and studied what little she could make out of his mangled face.

"Wake up."  
  
Nothing happened at her harsh tone except for the same monotonous beeping. Natasha heaved a sigh and leaned in closer until the tip of her nose touched his cheek. At the forwarding motion, her silver necklace slipped out of its confines and dangled freely in the air.

“Я люблю тебя.”

~

After two more days, the doctors were able to slowly ease him out of the barbiturate coma and waited for the vegetative state to set in. Ten hours later, Bruce started showing signs of being startled by both visual stimulation and sounds. Natasha remained close by all the time until he actually opened his eyes one night.

“Bruce?”  
  
No response but a flicker of his eyelids. With care, she brushed over his scraped knuckles. “If you can hear and understand me, move your fingers.” After two seconds, during which she held her breath, his thumb and index finger twitched. “Okay, good. You are at a hospital in Germany, everything is safe and under control, and you can rest some more.” He blinked around, unfocused, and tried to search for her face.

Natasha leaned in closer, mindful not to crush his bandaged chest. “Here. I'm here. I'll stay here.” It was then that he allowed his eyelids to droop. His fingers moved again, trying to curl around hers, but failed. She slipped her hand into his and sat back in the chair. Natasha would wake the next day with a massive crick in her neck from sleeping bent over the edge of the bed, close to his arm, but their hands were still interlaced.

Stretching her upper body with a small pop, she looked up and found his eyes open. Most of his face was still hidden behind tubes, but Bruce kept on watching her. Natasha used her free hand to stroke his cheek. “I think it's best if we get a nurse in here now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Я люблю тебя - I love you


	25. Chapter 25

On day four, Bruce was fully responsive and taken off of all life support machines. He still suffered from massive fatigue, visual disturbances, and headaches, but the doctors had run another MRI to ensure that the neuronal activity in his brain was resuming and working at full capacity. When they were alone and the nurse had completed her final round of the night, Natasha leaned one hip against the side of his bed.

“They say you can leave tomorrow, so I've brought some clothes along for you to wear.” His gaze followed her thumb over to a large, nondescript bag in the corner on a chair. “Provided you don't want to wear the smelly carnival costume you came in. I packed that one separately.” He shifted up. “Carnival costume?” His voice was still raspy, though not for voluntary reasons but prolonged intubation time.

Natasha shrugged, crossed her ankles, and braced her elbow on the rails. “I had to tell a story for that strange getup of yours and mine, and there's no Halloween in Germany, stupid.” Bruce pulled a face. It remained unclear to her if it was because of his protesting ribs or her comment. “Who else knows?” She watched him adjust the bed's head section via remote control. “Just Stark, I think. He left three days ago.”  
  
Mouth grim, Bruce drummed his fingers on the mattress. “So what's the situation?” She shrugged. “We're out of commission, you and me.” His face contorted as renewed memories of the past days and events came rushing back. “Are you alright? Did you get hurt?” Natasha shook her head and reached out to still his growing agitation with a hand on his arm. “I am fine. Some idiot in a carnival costume just had to play the hero.”  
  
With a finalized sigh, Bruce stopped moving and leaned back against the pillows, too tired to protest. “He's done the right thing, protecting what's important to him.” The flush that crept up Natasha's cheeks made her clench her hands into solid fists. “No, he's a fucking jackass who nearly got himself killed and left me to freak out about him being brain-dead.” Their eyes met.

Upon seeing hers glint with emotion, Bruce's mouth stretched into a small, warm smile. “Pretty sure I heard you say you love him.” She tsked loud enough for him to hear and straightened up. “I guess that's still the morphine talking.” Bruce watched her fetch her jacket from the foot section of his bed. “Tasha?” A fiery shake of the head. “I gotta go, it's late.” He pushed his bottom lip forward and his brows together.

“Does the jackass at least get a kiss goodnight?”

She turned around to look at him. After they had removed the heavy bandages around his head, the shaved strip above his ear that was adorned by sutures stood out in harsh contrast to the rest of thick, medium length hair. His pouting made her relent, though not without rolling her eyes at him. Leaning over the side rails, jacket in one hand, she ran a finger through the soft buzzcut strands.

“I think we should go and shave off the other side as well, you know, to give you a real badass undercut.” He groused up at her with an overly wary expression. “Over my dead body.” It was then that her index finger landed under his chin and tilted it up slightly until she could press a soft kiss upon his lips. “Careful what you wish for, дорогой.” Once they separated, she slid into her jacket. “I'll pick you up a little before 9 tomorrow.”

He nodded, his eyes following her every move.  
Despite their fatigue, they were quick enough to spot the ring on her finger.  
Bruce said nothing.

~

The only direct flight back to the States was headed for JFK Airport and took them seven and a half hours. Bruce spent most of them in a state of sleepy, opiate bliss. Watching him fold his tall and broad physique into the small, cramped economy class seat was painful even without his set of injuries at hand, so Natasha had slipped him one of the Oxycodone pills the doctors at Leipzig hospital had prescribed.

Upon mutual agreement, rest and recuperation were going to take place at the cottage. Natasha would have preferred to get them closer to Indian River to spare him another strenuous, three-hour follow-up flight from New York to Michigan, but there had been no better or faster options. It was way past 7 pm by the time they rented a car at Calvin Campbell Municipal Airport and headed down familiar, winding roads.

“Alfred's not happy.”

Designated passenger Bruce Wayne sighed out loud and slipped his phone back into the pocket of his jeans. Natasha very well saw the wince he tried to hide as the strain from the small movement went straight to his still sore ribs. After listening to him getting chewed out by his butler for a solid five minutes, part of her felt for him. On the outside, she merely re-gripped the Jeep's steering wheel tighter and cocked her head.

“Of course he isn't, silly. You almost died going after a bunch of whacko superheroes.”  
That earned her a pointed and moreover disdained glimpse.  
“I went after my non-superhero, make-believe wife. Nothing else.”  
  
As he spoke, his eyes came to rest on her now bleak ring finger. They narrowed slightly before Bruce turned them back to the unpaved road in front. Together they watched the dark outline of the cottage appear at the end of the road. After Natasha had put the SUV into the parking position, she twisted in her seat to regard his tired countenance. “That is a-whole-nother reason for why your butler's not happy, believe me.”

In a move too fast for him to prevent, she then unbuckled and escaped his proximity by getting their bags from the trunk and hauling them into the house before he could open his mouth to protest. After he had peeled himself out of the seat and stood in the middle of the living room, Bruce spread his arms open wide and looked at her. “So marry me, then. All this halfhearted, make-believe nonsense has to end.”  
  
Natasha straightened up from where she had inspected the status of firewood in the unlit fireplace. Her face morphed into sheer panic bordering on horror. “Did you just propose to me, you big, stupid oaf?” He kept his inviting stance and only tilted his head. “What if I did?” Her eyes blazed back at him. “I'd say no!” In an instant, a suave playboy grin flashed across his face as he lowered his arms with a shrug. “Then I didn't.”

It came out in such a casual way that Natasha figured they might as well have been speaking about what was for dinner. To divert from the awkward situation at hand, she walked into the open kitchen area to take stock of the freezer. “You're surprisingly cheeky after banging your head against an entire airplane hangar.” Bruce sunk into the leather couch and stretched out his 6'1 frame with a grunt part relief, part pain-filled.

“Comes with the territory. Also, we should've bought something to eat at the airport.”  
Already busy wielding a heavy cast-iron frying pan around, Natasha's reply was a small harrumph.  
“Sleep. I'll wake you when it's ready.”

The fact that he did not protest spoke volumes.

~

A hand on his shoulder and the clink of stoneware against the coffee table made him stir half an hour later. Bleary-eyed, Bruce squinted at the steaming pile of vegetable fried rice in front of him. "Eat, then get back to sleep." He shifted into a sitting position with a small hiss and what sounded like a muttered profanity. Natasha put her own plate down and went to rummage through one of the kitchen drawers. “Here.”  
  
She placed a bottle of painkillers next to his glass of water and dropped onto the couch. “No more pills. I'll manage.” The grimace with which he reached out to grab the plate made her chuckle. “Right." At the way he eyed the bottle, she amended. "Ibuprofen, not that German stuff for elephants.” Much to her relief, his ghostly pallor began to recede as he worked up an appetite. Bruce then lowered the fork, eyes twinkling.

“Is this the part where I get to make a lewd comparison about elephants and certain parts of my anatomy?”  
Even if she was glad to see him grin, she saw the exhaustion from the past twelve hours etched onto his face.  
“No, this is the part where you eat all your veggies and prepare for a long, solitary night to get some real rest.”  
  
“Now wait up...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> дорогой - darling


	26. Chapter 26

For as much as Bruce had complained about sleeping alone yet another night, his bedroom door remained closed until way after 11 o'clock the next morning. His steps were a little slower than usual as he trotted down the stairs, dressed in a plain white shirt and pajama pants, rubbing the back of his neck in the process. Their eyes met and she rose to slip two slices of bread into the toaster. “How's the bod?”

He trapped her between the counter and himself and kissed the side of her neck. “Lonely.” Natasha enjoyed the stubble on his face for a good three seconds before she slapped his wandering hands off when they went up to her shirt. “Sit down and eat breakfast.” Bruce remained where he was and hummed against her skin. When she moved to the pan on the stove and grabbed the spatula, he moved along with her.

“This domestic streak of yours is really turning me on.” His diligent fingers went on another mission, that time trying for the waistband of her sleeping shorts. “How about a dose of electrical discharge to go with your scrambled eggs?” He nibbled on her earlobe. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Only when her house slippers stepped on his bare toes, Bruce retreated with a sigh and went to fetch himself a cup of coffee.

Once he was equipped with a plate of toast and eggs, his focus shifted and he began to eat. Natasha also went back to her own breakfast, browsing a weathered booklet that had stuck out of their mailbox that morning. “What's that?” Bruce pointed his chin before he bit into a honeyed toast. She flipped another page. “Last minute vacations.” He craned his neck to be able to peek at the images of hotels from upside down.  
  
“If you want to go somewhere just tell me.” The look she threw him was full of taunt. “I don't.” With that, Natasha flipped the brochure shut and took it along to throw it into the trash. She ran water into the sink and ignored him while he finished eating. When he brought her his plate, Bruce pounced again. “Think about it. Sexy times on the Maldives.” She kept on rinsing the dishes and ignored his advances until he harrumphed.

“I'm starting to feel offended by your lack of amorous interest. We're still short on glorious makeup sex.”  
Adding more droplets of dish soap, she gave him a brief, thoroughly deadpan look.  
“You're still short on being able to move without a walking frame.”

“Really.”

His strong arms then circled her waist and lifted her up to sit on the kitchen counter. With one palm left and right of her bare thighs, a smug-looking Bruce leaned in until their faces were inches apart. “Now we're cooking with gas.” She smelled honey and coffee on his breath and unconsciously looked at his mouth. It prompted him to nab her lips in a hungry, fierce kiss. She broke it when she felt him wince as he leaned in.

“Idiot. Think about your ribs.”

Natasha glowered at him and the way he favored his left side. “Oh, I am thinking about them. And the way your naked body feels pressed up against them.” Before he could trap her again, she slid off the counter and sidestepped him in a fluid motion. “As horny as a rabbit.” He huffed. “The only wrong thing about that is the prudence in your voice.” Her still soapy, wet fingers cupped the visible bulge in his pajama pants.  
  
“How about you go take a long, cold shower and think about sins and virtues?”  
Miffed at the unpleasant sensation, Bruce took a step back and scratched the side of his jaw.  
“You are a cruel woman.”

“You know you love me.”

“If only you let me.”  
Her outstretched arm pointed up the stairs.  
“Shower.”

~

Bruce returned to the scene showered, shaved, and dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a fitted anthracite t-shirt. He found her out on the wooden dock, sitting close to the shoreline with her legs crossed. When he made a move to also hunker down and join her, Natasha abruptly got to her feet. “Oh no. Forget about it.” She wanted to walk back towards the house, but he gripped her arm. Hurt and confusion marred his face.

“I want to know why we're back to square one.”  
She squinted up at him.  
“Square one?”

“You biting my head off no matter what I say or do.”

“I don't like being harassed just because you need to get laid.”  
  
At that, Bruce let go of her and narrowed his eyes. “Point taken. I just thought you'd want to be with me, too.” His crestfallen look made her scowl at a few pebbles in front of her shoes, and she kicked them. “I don't want to hurt you during sex. Is that what you wanted to hear?” With a smile, Bruce seized the opportunity to slide an arm around her shoulders. She did not push him away, and he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“See? That wasn't so hard.”  
A cheeky grin on display, Natasha squinted up at him against the sunlight.  
“That's what she said.”

He humored her by baring his teeth in mock laughter and drew her closer to bury his face in her hair. “I can never be with another woman again. You've spoiled me for any normal relationship there might be.” She snorted. “Am I supposed to say sorry now?” His arm tightened around her shoulder. “No. Just say you'll be mine.” Like an agile feline twisting from unwanted physical contact, Natasha peeled herself out of his embrace.

“Not even two minutes later and you're doing it again!”  
Bruce tilted his head back and suppressed a groan.  
“This is not about sex, Tasha.”

“It's the same thing!”  
  
She left him standing there and turned on her heel to skip the up the stairs of the patio and walk back inside. He followed her seconds later, giving a very volatile push to the mosquito door which resulted in a clatter of the thin construction. Her raised eyebrow spoke volumes, but Bruce did not pay it any mind. “What does it take to have a decent conversation with you?” Natasha put the kitchen counter between them.  
  
“You to stop nagging me.”  
  
He drew in a breath and raised his chin. “At least tell it to my face that you don't love me. If that's the case then I'll stop bothering you.” Her shocked expression must have been enough of an answer because he continued undeterred. “If not then give us a chance. As husband and wife.” It was then that her gray-green eyes turned hard as stone. “Don't start this.” There was a low, warning undertone in her voice.

Bruce exhaled through his mouth. “This whole thing started so long ago, there's no way I can stop it now. And I don't want it to.” She gnawed on her bottom lip, anguish written all over her countenance. “Why can't you let this go? Why can't you leave things the way they are?" He reached into the back pocket of his jeans. To her curious gaze, he held up a folded piece of paper and stepped closer to where she stood.

“Because I have such a nice gift to go with an engagement.” He urged her to take it. “Knowing you hate sappy jewelry and such.” Natasha stared at the triple-folded sheet in her hand. “What is that?” Instead of an answer, Bruce sneaked an arm around her waist and drew her close. “Open up.” He looked over her shoulder as she unfolded it. “The quitclaim deed to the cottage. I want you to have it, provided I get a spare set of keys.”

She skimmed over the sentences to convince herself he was not kidding. Bruce's voice then spoke again, close to her ear. “Don't worry about taxes. Everything's settled and covered for.” Like she had been burnt Natasha pulled out of his embrace. “No.” She held the paper out for him to take back, brandishing it in his face. “Excuse me? No?” He blinked, surprised, but made no move to grab it.

A rush of adrenaline thus made her slam the innocent document onto the solid kitchen counter. Her whole hand hurt after it made contact with the granite. “Don’t trust me. With this. With your future. In general.” Bruce's smile was lenient and full of affection as he watched her scowl at him. “But I do.” His utmost honesty was too much to face, so she turned away and gripped the edge of the counter. “I cannot marry you.”

Her voice was just a whisper. It was then that his amused and slightly besotted facade dropped and revealed honest concern.  
“Why?”  
After a brief pause, Natasha reopened her eyes and turned to meet his gaze, her countenance grave.  
  
“Because I am already married.”

 


	27. Chapter 27

In seconds, the mask of composure Bruce usually wore like a second skin slipped from his features. It was something Natasha would have feasted upon, back in the days, to see him so utterly and openly shaken. Now it made her feel like the biggest scum alive. "You're... what?” She averted his eyes. Her arms came up to hug herself, fingertips pressing hard into her upper arms as she stared ahead with dull eyes.

“Alexei Shostakov, former test pilot and KGB agent, is my husband.”

Bruce recovered faster than she gave him credit for. After swallowing twice, he put his arms akimbo and squared his shoulders. “So where is he?” His clipped way of speaking reminded her of his dark alter ego. “They faked his death to get me to complete my training. I haven't seen him in years.” They stood, each lost in thought until Bruce cleared his throat and walked over to the panorama windows of the living room.

“Do you love him?”

He stood ramrod straight, eyes fixated on the lake instead of her. Natasha's left hand began to trace a thin crack in the heavy stone of the kitchen counter. “The Soviet state wanted me to, so I did. For a couple of years at least.” She glimpsed at him but he refrained from making eye contact. His jaw was locked tight. “Is he still alive?” She leaned her hip against the counter and ran a hand through her hair. “I don't know.”  
  
At that, Bruce came out of his paralysis by casting her a furious look and jabbing a finger at her. “Don't bullshit me, Natasha. Of course you know!” Her face twisted with anger. “I'm just his wife on paper, the hell I do!” Despite her raised voice and snappish retort, he became analytical in the blink of an eye and nodded once. “I'll look into it.” Her heart began to thump. “NO! You won't! I don't want you to! And I don't want this either!”

With renewed determination, Natasha flung the paper with the quitclaim deed at him. It sailed soundlessly to the floor in between them. Bruce bent down to pick it up and place it on the mantelpiece of the cold fireplace. Weariness lay in his stance. “Don't be ridiculous. My offer still stands. Even if you don't want to be with me, the house is yours. I'll take back everything else, but I won't take that back.” She stared at him as if he was insane.

“Why?! You goddamn idiot! I've hurt you over and over – why the hell aren't you through with me?!”

His eyes remained composed while hers started to brim. “Because I won’t move on from something that’s not supposed to end.” Her hands flew to her ears. “SHUT UP!” She felt furious at the tears that were about to betray her. The more she fought them, however, the worse they wanted to bubble up to the surface. “Shh, c’mere…” He moved, ready to take her in his arms. She slapped him when he dared to get too close.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He stopped walking and lowered his arms so they hung limply at his sides. “Tasha.” The amount of hurt and rejection in his voice was immense. Tears started to blur her vision, threatening to drip onto the granite top. “Just leave me ALONE!” She swung around just as he was about to try and comfort her again. A large kitchen knife was in her hand, pointed at his chest. “Put it down.”

His voice remained maddeningly calm and neutral. She shook her head. Her fingers were slick with sweat and she had to refasten her grip around the metal handle, using both hands. “It would have been better if we never met.” His face was a swirl of unreadable emotions. And then Bruce began to walk towards her. Almost like in slow motion, Natasha watched him walk straight into the knife. She gasped even though he did not.

Bruce did not even flinch or blink when the tip made contact with his body. Instead, he kept on watching her with a steadfast expression. “No. It wouldn't. Don't act like everything is meaningless.” By now, the sharp blade had penetrated the skin below his sternum and drawn blood. Frozen to the spot, Natasha stared at the red dot that began to spread out underneath his gray t-shirt. Her hands started to shake.

It was then he took the knife from her with a gentle but firm grip and placed it aside. Natasha slung her palms at her face, reeling, but his embrace was tight and strong. It prompted her to sag against his broad chest with an ugly sob. “I'm the only woman who'd stab you after you proposed to her.” He placed a kiss upon the crown of her head and waited until she was willing to meet his gaze. “I didn't propose. You're delusional.”  
  
That made her laugh despite her clogged nose.  
“Stupid fool.”  
Bruce's thumbs became busy wiping the tears from her cheeks.  
  
“Wouldn't you know.”  
After a few moments, Natasha then tore from his grip, even if he was reluctant to let her go.  
“Let's get you patched up.”  
  
He glimpsed at the small rivulet that had tainted his shirt down to his bellybutton and shrugged. “It's nothing.” Rummaging for the first aid kit she ran the back of her hand under her running nose, angry at herself. “Like hell it is! Lift it up.” With surprising compliance, he did as he was told while she disinfected the nick and applied a band-aid. Neither of them said a word. Bruce kept on looking into the distance until she flipped the kit shut.

“Done.”

He nodded once, a curt nonverbal thanks, and walked past her to the patio, headed for the landing stage. Natasha changed into her running gear and sprinted up the trail leading into the woods. Her legs wobbled but she pressed on until she was certain he did not follow her up to the small clearing. Chest heaving, she dropped on the crooked little wooden bench and cried and screamed until she was hoarse.

Only when her head felt clear enough 20 minutes later, she trotted back to where the cabin's light shone at a distance.

 


	28. Chapter 28

When she entered, Bruce had already turned in. Natasha took a shower to wipe away the traces of her crying fit and to soothe protesting muscles. The blinds had been left half-open in their mutual bedroom. She saw his outlines, hidden under the covers, broad back turned into her direction. Not knowing whether he was asleep or awake, she slipped in behind as quiet as possible and felt for the band-aid under his shirt.

He stilled her by interweaving their fingers. “How was your run?” His voice was low but not as sleep-addled as she had figured. Natasha swallowed. “Lonely.” Scooting closer, she pressed a soft, almost careful kiss on his nape. She did it again when his fingers flexed around hers at the tender ministrations and his whole body seemed to lose some of its previous rigidity.

She freed her hand from his grip and ran her fingers along his lower abdomen and the soft happy trail. Bruce inhaled deeply before he shifted into a position where he was flat on his back. Even in the semi-dark, she saw the questions in his eyes. Natasha propped herself up on one elbow and leaned in to kiss him from forehead down to his nose, cheeks, and chin until she sealed their lips. "Расслабься, я этим займусь."

A small shiver ran through his body when her hand slipped below his waistband and freed his growing arousal. He made a move to return the favor, but she put a palm on his shoulder. “No, just let me do this. Please.” Her words stilled him and she stretched out, her mouth at his throat, and began to stroke him. He reached out to touch her, and Natasha allowed him to slip a hand between her thighs to have something to hold on to.

His fingers clenched into her skin as she pleasured him in a steady, firm rhythm. After a little while, Bruce went from making almost no noise to taking little, hitched intakes of breath. His eyes fluttered shut and she leaned in to run her tongue along the shell of his ear. “I love to see you like this.” Another breath, that time more of a moan. His grip on her inner thigh was on the verge of being painful, and she knew he was close.

Satisfied with the spell she had him under, she whispered in throaty hues. “Come for me.” And he did, with a shudder and a sound so vulnerable she got goosebumps all over her body. Natasha kept on stroking him until he was spent and boneless in between the sheets. She eyed his countenance for any signs of pain as she fetched a tissue from the nightstand and cleaned him up. “Hurts?” Eyes still closed, he huffed out a laugh.

“Far from it.”

After a while, Bruce pulled his pants back up and scooted into a spooning position. _'Wonder who else knows Bruce Wayne is a cuddler.'_ Unmindful of her fond thoughts, he buried his face in her hair and tightened his grip on her waist. “You know I'll always come for you.” His voice was drowsy and more of a hum against her back. Natasha laid awake some more, listening to his soft, rhythmical breathing, and stared at the wall.

Her whispered reply should come long after he was already fast asleep.

“That's what I fear.”

~

Iron Man visited them six days after their arrival at Indian River. He touched down in one of his suits on the landing stage, making the whole construction shudder, much to Bruce's dismay. After sharing a pointed look with the women by his side, Wayne then stepped out onto the patio to greet their unannounced visitor. “Stark.” His voice and stance spoke of utter skepticism. The faceplate whooshed up to reveal said man's grin.  
  
“Batsy.”  
At that, Bruce cast him a seething glare. Tony shrugged, still grinning.  
“Don't judge, I always wanted to say that.”  
  
He nodded at the woman in the back, who had soundlessly stepped out onto the patio. "Nat.” She tilted her head in greeting. “How's the superhero framing going?” Tony took her cynical jibe with more fondness than she would have given him credit for. “It's a drag. Especially since a couple of players have started to switch sides and make up their own rules.” They then watched him shed the rest of his suit with ease.

Once Tony stood in front of them in designer jacket and jeans, Bruce frowned from the craftsmanship of the armor back over to its creator. “Black Panther?” Stark's large brown eyes disappeared behind a pair of shades he slipped on with an air of dramatics. “For instance. That go-hard-in-the-paint dude's offering both Cap and his bestie diplomatic immunity as of late.” Wayne pushed his jaw forward and his chest out.

“And you want what?” Stark spread his arms with a winsome, huge grin. “A badass partner with proper tech and a knack for kicking ass.” Tony then lowered his sunglasses to give him a blatant once-over. “Think you're up for the job?” Bruce's arms crossed over his chest even if he most likely felt the persistent twinge of his ribs. “I'm not in prime condition as of late.” At that, the shades slid all the way back up.

“Me neither, but hey, you've managed to survive her”, Tony tilted his head over to where Natasha leaned against the patio door. “The rest should be a piece of cake. Also, I got some real neat ideas for an upgrade of your suit. Call me once you guys are done playing hillbilly honeymoon.” Tony stepped back into the suit in a flawless motion. He flipped the faceplate open once more and pointed at Bruce.

“By the way – you should go and shave that into an undercut to make it look less wonky.”

Only when Iron Man was nothing but a small, bright dot in the sky, Bruce allowed his arms to uncross. “He's a megalomanic asshole.” Natasha stepped up close, and he allowed her to wrap her arms around him from behind, cheek against his shoulder blade. “Yeah, but he's a megalomanic asshole with a heart of gold.” The noncommittal grunt Bruce gave was enough reason for her to nudge the back of his right knee.  
  
“Penny for your thoughts?”  
His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides while his gaze remained locked on the horizon.  
“I wonder about his motives.”

Natasha gazed at the idle lake with a thoughtful expression. “Tony wouldn't have come here if he was planning on ratting you out. I've known him for quite a long time now, and even if I wouldn't have believed it at first -if there's one person who's true to his word, it's Stark.” Bruce snorted. “Uh huh.” His whole body seemed terser than before. It prompted her to step around and face him with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay now. What's with the cantankerous attitude, Mister Wayne?” A pair of guarded eyes darted in between hers for a few seconds. “Why's he allowed to call you Nat and I'm not?” She almost laughed out loud at the raging jealousy hidden within his question. Instead, one of her index fingers came up, booped the tip of his nose, and reveled in the fact he let her get away with it.

“Cause I don't sleep with him, but with you, дурак.”  
Two rows of white, even teeth shone back at her.  
“Fair enough.”  
  
~  
  
That evening, Bruce allowed her to use a hair clipper machine on him to give it an even look. From where he sat on the rim of the bathtub for the longest time, fidgeting and complaining all the way through the whirring sounds and flying strands of hair, he was finally given a hand-held mirror. After peeking at his reflection from as many different angles as possible, Bruce lowered the mirror with a horrified expression.

“I look awful!”  
Features deadpan, Natasha continued to tap the remaining stubble from the clipper machine into the sink.  
“But the hair's nice.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Расслабься, я этим займусь - Relax, I'll take care of this / I got this  
> дурак - fool


	29. Chapter 29

Natasha felt stupid. Not that she would ever say such a thing out loud, but she felt stupid. Stupid like one of those pathetic women who had to stand aside and watch her man leave for war. It was a ridiculous notion, seeing she was the Black Widow, and Bruce Wayne was behaving like a true misogynist. “You stay here until this is over and done.” Fuming, she had to rein herself in not to punch him in the still tender ribs.

It was exactly said physical condition that caused an argument between them, once Bruce decided to take on Stark's challenge and meet the other billionaire in New York. “One jab to your ribs and you're right back to the hospital, goddamn idiot. Let me come along.” Natasha glowered at the serene way he kept on packing a duffel bag. “No.” As an answer, she kicked his pair of combat boots on her way downstairs.

Bruce sought her out half an hour later, dressed in a fitted, all-black ensemble with the matching, heavy boots now on his feet. He dropped the duffel next to where she sat on the porch swing with a scowl, stepped in front of her and leaned in until their faces were inches apart. “You don't really want to sulk at me. Give me a kiss to remember.” She glared at him. “I could give you a shiner. That will last even longer.”

He put a hand on the headrest of the swing and stilled its slight rocking motion. “Domestic violence is a serious problem.” His underlying smugness almost drove her up the wall and she exhaled through the nose. “So is your attitude.” A distant sound like a sonic boom from behind caught their attention. The surface of the lake quivered and rippled until a Quinjet moved out of stealth-mode and hovered above the water.

With a lopsided grin, Bruce grabbed his duffel and straightened up. “My carriage awaits.” Lightning-fast, Natasha shot up from her seat and gripped his arm with force. “If you get hurt, there'll be hell to pay. Remember.” He shouldered his bag and reached out to cup the side of her face with a large palm. “Я тоже тебя люблю.” The kiss that followed was fervid and almost bruising, and Natasha soaked it up.

After a few heartbeats, however, she pushed him away before her treacherous fingers would start to pull and claw into his Kevlar jacket. “Go kick some serious ass.” Bruce turned to look over his shoulder as he marched down the landing stage in a tall, confident stride. “Your wish shall be my command, Milady.” Rolling her eyes at his indicated bow, Natasha turned around and walked inside.

From behind the curtains, she watched the Quinjet gain altitude until it became invisible once again.

~

Fate had it that a massive earthquake shook the nation of Wakanda a few days after Bruce and Tony arrived in-country. The first live footage available consisted of blurred mobile videos taken from people fleeing into safety. They showed a nation in ruins, huge damage to land surface vegetation, and debris and rubble where streets and houses used to be. Thousands were homeless, hundreds injured or missing, many dead.

Watching the massive destruction on her tablet, Natasha twirled her necklace, face stoic.

_'No, you didn't. I know you didn't.'_

Minutes turned into hours.

The footage stayed the same as no new information rolled in; Wakanda remained cut off from any means of communication. Just when Natasha tried to accept the possibility that neither Tony Stark nor Bruce Wayne had made it out alive, an official statement from the nation's sovereign was transmitted. T'Challa's speech was composed and brief. He called on his people to not give up hope even in times of despair.

Listening along with one ear, Natasha perked up when he honored Batman and Iron Man who had ended up helping the Wakandan public in one of the nation's darkest hours. What he did not mention was how their initial mission had been apprehending an exiled Captain America and his companion whom the sovereign had been giving diplomatic immunity to. As if on cue, her phone blinked an incoming call.

“Are you okay?”  
She offered no preamble, no greeting, nothing.  
“Yes.”  
  
The connection was bad, his voice tinny and far away, but Natasha's eyes closed with relief for a moment. When they reopened, they held their usual composed manner. “We need to talk about your penchant for disastrous situations when you get back.” A small cough could be heard over the line and made her frown. “Now that sounds hazardous.” Much to her relief, his voice nevertheless sounded steady. She tsked.

“What's your ETD?”

There was a patch of static before all of a sudden, Tony Stark's deep baritone rumbled through the line. “If I may briefly interrupt the two lovebirds for a sec – I just had an epiphany. I know why this dude here can fly a Quinjet from scratch. He's the one who hot-wired it. Weren't you, Brucie?” Natasha marveled at the 'Brucie' part, albeit in silence. Said man then snorted over the line. “Get over it, your tech isn't all that great.”

“Some boyfriend you have, Nat. Old money with a gangster vibe. Neat.”

“He's not too bad.”

“Is his lock pick collection monogrammed at least?”

“Made from diamond-studded titanium.”

“Got yourself a winner there.”

“You think so?”

“... I am right here, as you both know.”

Natasha allowed herself to grin. Some rustling then indicated that Bruce had gotten rid of their eavesdropper.

“So what about your mission?”

“Target has last been spotted in a secured area before the earthquake. We need to retrace his path.”

To hear Bruce refer to Steve Rogers as a target left a bitter taste in Natasha's mouth. She swallowed.

“So you'll stay some more.”

“Stark said something about two, maybe three.”

“Days?”

“Weeks.”

When she did not answer right away, Bruce took a deep breath. “Tasha, if I don't make it back, we should talk about...” With an abrupt motion, she stood up and yanked the refrigerator door open with force. “No. Fuck you. None of that mushy-gushy talk while I can't smack you in person. You get your ass back here, then we'll talk. Nothing else.” Her hand curled around a bottle of expensive Russian vodka.

On the other end of the line, Bruce could be heard making adjustments to which the Quinjet responded with a high-pitched, electronic whine. When he spoke again, his voice was factual. “I'll get back to you as soon as I can.” Natasha kicked the fridge door shut and wedged the phone between ear and shoulder to get a glass. “Good.” They ended the call like it had begun; without endearments or emotional farewells.

She remained sitting at the kitchen table, drinking glass after glass until the clock struck 4 am and the bottle was nearly empty. Natasha held onto the banister as she took the swaying stairs, stumbled into their bed without brushing her teeth and fell asleep on his side, face buried in his pillow. After five hours of more or less fitful sleep, she rose, took a shower to clear her head, brushed her teeth and packed a bag.

_'The time calls for a clean slate.'_

Her necklace remained on her nightstand before she headed out to the airport.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Я тоже тебя люблю - I love you, too


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of foreign expressions in this one. Translations at the end, I apologize for the trouble of having to scroll up and down because I cannot for the life of mine figure out how to use the little HTML hover boxes *facepalm*

The streets of St. Petersburg were glistening from a previous snow shower. It was December, and the harsh winds tore at her as Natasha alias Irina Zlataryova was on a mission to track down her estranged husband and settle matters. Somewhere in the distance, church bells went off, their sound echoing through the air. Natasha pulled her collar up high and quickened her steps.

Alexei Alanovich Shostakov was going by the moniker of Red Guardian these days after the late Soviet system had warped him into what could only be described as a poor man's Captain America with enhanced strength and abilities. She had to use and reactivate many of her old contacts to find him. Ten days after her arrival, she finally had a fixed rendezvous point at a shady bar in the Vyborgsky District.

Once she arrived at 7:30 pm, the bar was still closed. Its opening hours stated to start from 10 pm, so she entered with the help of one of her trusted little lockpicks. Inside, it stank of cold ashes, old deep-frying fat, and alcohol. She squinted at the dim lights in the back of the bar and at the blond man sitting there with his huge back towards her. “Наталия. Рад тебя видеть. Как поживаешь?”  
  
She remembered the man Alexei Shostakov was. It was not the same person who then turned around to face her. She tilted her head. “Long time no see, Alexei.” The fact that she decided to speak English made a muscle on his cheek twitch. “So you've come back from the States to visit your husband.” His English held a deep, thick accent. Natasha sauntered closer, taking her hands out of the pockets of her coat.

“If that was the case, I should've gone to the cemetery, no?” His bellowing laugh caused her to narrow her eyes and scan her surroundings for possible ambush situations. “You've known about my second chance for quite some time now, I know that for a fact.” When she reached the counter, she positioned herself so that she could keep an eye on both the back and the main door.

“I always thought it should have been you who needed to make the first step in contacting me. In a way, though, I'm glad you never took it.” They were several feet apart, Alexei still seated and Natasha standing at a safe distance. His icy blue eyes seized her up. “Then why did you come?” She reached into her pocket and saw him tense up. With slow movements, she pulled out an envelope. “I want a divorce.”

He looked at the paper she shoved over until he eventually unfolded and skimmed over it. Then he tutted; a condescending tone which made her skin crawl. “And why is that, Наташенька?” She gritted her teeth. The nickname Natashenka had always been nothing but dreadful, even back in the days. “My freedom is only partly true with your shadow attached to it.” At that, he stood up.

Natasha widened her stance and scanned him from head to toe, gauging potential weak spots. The Guardian was taller than she remembered Alexei to be, and the enhancement he had received made him look bulkier and meatier than during his times as a lean test pilot. His facial features warped into a sneer. “Oh, so you want to be free. For a dumb Pindos, I take it? Has he filled your head with all that western хуйня?”

“None of this is your concern. Just sign the paper and you'll never see me again.”  
  
Alexei looked at the paper again, then back to her. “What if I don't want to divorce you?” They locked eyes in a ferocious stare down. “I'm not leaving without us getting officially divorced.” At that, he began to shake his head and crack his knuckles. “You have forgotten, it seems.” He drew up to his full height and she disposed of her coat. “Forgotten what?” His teeth flashed back at her in the artificial light.  
  
“Пока смерть не разлучит нас, любовь моя.”  
Natasha's lips stretched into a lethal smirk.  
“I was hoping you would say that.”  
  
Their fight was fast, fierce, and brutal.

It was not unlike many recent battles Black Widow had to endure in the past few years of her Avengers' history. Memories of killing in cold blood flooded her brain as she sidestepped another attack. His blade still managed to catch her in passing, nicking her cheekbone. Warm blood spilled down the side of her face and she wiped it off before she jumped on a nearby table to gain better leverage as she flung herself at him.

Her booted foot caught the side of his head and it threw him off balance for a second. He recovered fast and laughed at her face. “You really think you are capable of killing me?” When she dared to pause and collect her breath, her mind threw her for a loop by conjuring up the mental images of two hazel eyes and the phantom smell of sandalwood. _'You and your goddamn morals got lousy timing, Bruce.'_

It distracted her only for a millisecond, but it was enough. Her adversary lunged forward and she came crashing down onto the hard surface of the bar. Something in her back cracked at the impact, and for a moment, Natasha only saw stars and heard a menacing dark chuckle. “Как глупо.” Undeterred, Black Widow rolled over the counter and hurled the first thing she got her hands on at him.

A bottle of vodka cracked his skull and rained down his face but the Guardian did not falter. Instead, he reached over to grab her by the collar and yank her towards him. The edge of the wooden counter slammed into her intestines, but Natasha's hands groped around for something to use as a weapon. They found a pliable, hose-like object which she threw around his shoulders just as a meaty hand went for her windpipe.

Despite the pressure, she rolled over the counter, using her legs as a lever, and escaped his deadly squeeze by doing a half flip and jump until she was behind him. Grabbing both ends of the hose, Natasha then slung it around his throat and began to strangle him. Alexei managed to get a hold of the tube and tore at it. Natasha went flying over his head and crashed into the glass-paneled back of the bar.

Adrenaline pumped through her veins and made her ignore the pain as she tore a thick piece of glass from her skin. In a fluent motion, she reached for the PSS silent pistol hidden on the inside of her calf and fired. Three precise shots into head, heart, and stomach, then the Red Guardian fell to the floor, dead. Breathing hard, she lowered her gun. Shards of glass crunched under her feet as she scrambled back to her feet.

Warmth oozed from her throat and ran down her collar. Like a drunk, she stumbled out of the bar and felt the harsh cold hit her face. A blur of moving objects in the distance turned out to be cars on a busy street and she headed into their direction, knowing she needed to make it somewhere populated to get help. Several feet away from the sidewalk, Natasha sunk into the snow with a groan, watching it turn pink fast.

Her final thought was for Bruce and all the things she never got to say to him.

~

"Помогите!"

"Позвоните в скорую помощь!"

_'They speak Russian in heaven.'_

_~_

For a while, Natasha reveled in the feeling of lightheartedness and zero gravity, feeling like all of her troubles had finally come to an end. There was a huge tree looming up within rich green pastures, its massive branches swinging softly in the breeze. It was warm, and when Natasha looked down she discovered she stood amid a lush green meadow, wearing a summery white dress and no shoes.

The light fabric played around her knees as she ran up the hill and let the grass tickle her skin. The closer she got to the hill, the more intense the light seemed to become. At some point she had to put a hand up to shield her eyes, the luminance starting to sting her retinas. A nagging feeling rose in the back of her subconscious, and she slowed her steps towards the alluring sway of the tree's green leaves.

_'Something's not right. Something's missing. I can't stay here. Not yet. I need to go back. I need...'_

Like a lens from a camera that was folding shut, she saw how the picturesque scenery started to become smaller and darker.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Red Guardian: https://marvel.com/universe/Red_Guardian_(Alexei_Shostakov)  
> Natasha's gun: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PSS_silent_pistol  
> +  
> Наталия. Рад тебя видеть. Как поживаешь? - Natalia. I'm glad to see you. How are you?  
> pindos = rude, slang term for a 'dumb American'  
> хуйня - bullshit  
> Пока смерть не разлучит нас, любовь моя - Till death do us part, my love  
> Как глупо - How silly/stupid  
> Помогите! - Help!  
> Позвоните в скорую помощь! - Call an ambulance!  
> 


	31. Chapter 31

When it was her turn to wake up inside a clinical environment, her vision was blurred for a good ten seconds. A feeling of nausea washed over her as consciousness took over, and she held still until it passed and she was certain she would not vomit all over herself. Through shifting colors, shapes, and milky silhouettes, Natasha then was able to spot the outlines of another person a few feet away.

Bruce sat, or rather slouched, in a well-worn armchair in the corner of what seemed to be a rather small but single bedroom. He wore a for him unusual getup consisting of a cheap-looking bomber jacket in shining khaki, bulky black pants, and a baseball hat in ugly beige. His chin was propped up on a fist, and his eyelids fluttered in what seemed to be a constant battle against the temptation of deep, real sleep.

Natasha felt numb and moved her hands and feet underneath the white blanket to get a bit of blood circulation going. The soft sound the fabric made caused Bruce's eyes to snap open, instantly alert. Once he found her awake, he got up and brought the chair along to put it next to her bed. She tried to blink the fuzziness away until she saw from up close how he was unshaven and sported dark bags under his eyes.

“Welcome to St. Petersburg General Hospital.”  
Natasha's gaze flew up to his hat. It read 'аэрофлот'.  
“Diagnosis?”  
  
His face darkened and he stole a glance at a spot near the crook of her bandaged neck. “Small fracture of the upper thoracic spine, two nicked arteries. A little more to the front and you would not have been so lucky.” His voice sounded strangely hollow. She let the info sink in without any visible reaction. “How'd you find me?” Her croak prompted Bruce's grim expression to turn softer and a cup of water to appear under her nose.

Natasha sipped with care from a small plastic straw, holding his gaze. “Bobby always finds his Masha, even if she uses an old alias and winds up half-dead at the other end of the world, in need of a blood transfusion.” It took her woozy mind longer than usual to get behind the true reason for his gaunt appearance. “You...” A whisper. Bruce pressed his lips together until they were a thin line. “O negative. Compatible with anyone.”  
  
Natasha leaned back against the pillow, feeling drained from the small effort of drinking water.  
_'Your life is running through my veins.'_  
She wondered why the grave meaning behind his words did not petrify him as much as it did her.  
  
The white ceiling held a multitude of perforated little white dots. It made her dizzy the longer she stared at it, and so she averted her gaze. “I killed him.” Bruce Wayne swallowed but said nothing. “I had to.” Part of her blamed the drugs running through her veins for justifying her actions. He pressed a thumb and a forefinger into the hollow of his eyes. “Signed divorce papers would've been sufficient.”

She snorted, felt the roughness of her throat, and waited until he looked at her. “The last thing he wanted was to do me a favor.” Bruce's scowl grew in intensity, so he turned it towards the snowy scenery outside the window. “I just wish you would've let me in on this.” Natasha inhaled through her mouth. “It wouldn't have been your battle.” No reply. Eventually, however, he let out a long, suffering sigh. “I know.”

Bruce then wiped a palm over drawn-out features and reached into the pocket of his jacket. “I knew the moment I got back and saw what you had left behind.” Something small and shiny dangled from his hand. Her necklace. The heart monitor on the side gave a few elevated blips and she forced herself to take a breath. “To avoid losing it.” His tired eyes blinked a few times while he regarded the penchant with a pensive expression.

“So that's what it was.” Bruce's mouth then did that quirky little curl to cover up whatever wanted to slip past his lips. “I thought... never mind.” Despite her addled mind, Natasha knew what he was implying. _'Your life is running through my veins.'_ The hand not attached to the IV then reached out and grasped for his. From the corner of her eye, Natasha noticed how raw and bruised her knuckles looked; how bitten-down her nails were.

She swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

Bruce looked at her in confusion. She tried to smile. “The answer to the question you never asked.” Again the heart rate monitor on the side moved out of its regular pattern. _'Your life is running through my veins.'_   Bruce raised her hand and pressed a gentle kiss upon her fingertips. “Будь моей женою.” A quiet statement, but no question. A single, treacherous tear rolled down her cheek and she freed her fingers to wipe it away.

“It's going to be a lot like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” He shrugged and leaned back, to which the rickety chair underneath him creaked in protest. “Been there, done that. At least the sex is great.” She grimaced. “Not for a while.” He tipped the brim of his hat up with a finger. “Good things come to those who wait.” Her lips twitched. “Bad pun.” A grin. “You think?” Her eyes narrowed. “What I think is that your butler hates me.”

Bruce only shrugged again, this time with pretended naivety. “Alfred usually does with people who try to betray and kill me. A serious character flaw.” At her attempted glare, he stroked her non-bandaged cheek, his expression turning back to being as tender as a few moments before. “You'll convince him over time. For now, get some rest and I'll check out the borscht at the cafeteria.”

Natasha hated how the meds made her loopy and tired, and how perceptive he was to notice it as well. He was already at the door when she called after him. “Брюс...” It was so rare for her to use his real name, albeit at a different intonation, that it had the desired effect and made him turn around. “Yes?” She pointed at his head. “Take off the stupid hat.” He reached up, only to pull the brim down a little deeper. “You wish.”

They shared a brief smile before he slipped from her room as soundless as possible. She fell asleep with a feeling her drugged mind dared to classify as cautious happiness. It did not take long until the light from her previous dream was back, but it had turned warm and comforting. And that time, she was not alone. Up there, on the hill, standing underneath the huge tree, someone was waiting for her. Someone she knew.  
  
Dream-Natasha smiled at the familiar, broad-shouldered silhouette and increased her stride.  
  
_'Your life is running through my veins.'_

~

She woke to a chilly breeze on her bare forearms which rested atop the blanket. Tucked in her hospital bed, Natasha opened her eyes to a swirl of snowflakes dancing within gray skies outside of the window. The chair in the corner was empty for the first time in the past few days, and she frowned at the multitude of unpleasant sensations. Before she had time to mull over them, there was a knock on the door.

Bruce entered after a few seconds, looking different than the last time she saw him. He had switched the fugly and cheap ensemble for a thick black duffel coat that screamed expensive even from far away. Snowflakes hung in his gray knitted woolen hat, and a large shopping bag labeled 'Burberry' dangled from a gloved hand. “Appropriate outerwear for 28 degrees that feel like 8.” The distaste in his voice was audible.  
  
“Let's go home.”

Once Natasha, too, was bundled into a similar warm and long coat, Bruce took her hand and led her outside to where a cab was waiting. She clenched her teeth at the way her still-weakened legs screamed in protest at her every step, but the man by her side did her a favor and made no comment other than letting her mangle his hand in her death-like grip. Tired from the few steps, she all but collapsed in the backseat.

For a few seconds, she tried hard not to get sick from the smell of stale cigarette smoke and chemically treated upholstery. Bruce slipped in next to her and spoke a few words in Russian with the driver, indicating his wish to head for some airfield Natasha had never even heard about. As soon as the car set into motion, he allowed her to lean against his side, steadying her without ado.

A bottle of water appeared in front of her nose, together with a white little pill.  
“Vicodin to make it through the flight.”  
Too weak to protest, Natasha washed it down and closed her eyes before the motion could make her sick.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> аэрофлот - Aeroflot (name of a Russian airline)  
> Будь моей женою - Be my wife  
> Брюс - Bruce


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait! Real life is not writer-friendly atm :/

After a 20-minute drive through crowded streets, the drug began to work and Natasha relished its woozy feeling. She did not even chide Bruce for carrying her aboard a huge private jet with a silvery trident logo on its side. It came with a bed so soft that she was inwardly thankful he was as resourceful as he was rich. As soon as they were airborne, he went and helped her change into comfortable sleepwear.

And there, high above the clouds, bundled up in between the sheets, she finally got to see him without any of the previous hats. All stupefied, Natasha blinked up at him as he exited the lavatory, dressed in a pair of boxer briefs and t-shirt. “What have you done?” Bruce ran a palm over his clean, crisp buzzcut. “What had to be done.” Despite feeling mellow and tired, she tsked at him with rebuke as he nestled in next to her.

“Looking like a soldier, ты мой чертенок.”  
  
She fell asleep running a hand through his hair while murmuring something Russian about puppies and soft fur.

~

A voice cut through her medically-induced dreams at some point. It was quiet and unrecognizable at first but brought her closer to the brim of consciousness. Natasha blinked her surroundings into view, confused at first, and saw how everything outside the aircraft was dark. Her throat felt parched and her stomach churned from too little solid food and ongoing medication.

“ _... I can't... no. No-- let them... how can I...”_

She turned her attention to the warm presence next to her. Bruce was on his back, head turned away from her. His fingers curled around the fabric of the blanket, and his whole body seemed to twitch from small muscle spasms. His voice drifted back off into unintelligible groans and mumbling, and Natasha frowned.

_'Nightmare.'_

She put a careful hand on his biceps. “Дорого́й...” Natasha's voice was a whisper but only resulted in him giving a strangled sob and press his cheek further into the pillow. _“-... stop... I can't-- "_ When she reached out to touch a spot close to his temple, her fingers came away clammy. Before she had to dare and rouse him herself, a small turbulence rattled the cabin, and Natasha's tender stitching jarred.

She braced herself on the mattress and sucked in a breath as pain flared up. Bruce stirred with a grunt and shifted, eyes snapping open, alert at once. Upon finding her awake, he propped himself up on one elbow. “What's wrong?” Keeping her face neutral, she brushed a hand against his chest. “Just thirsty. Go back to sleep.” He still sat up and reached for something on his side of the bed. Smooth, indirect light flooded the cabin.

There was a soft sizzling noise before Bruce handed her a bottle of water. Natasha sipped the cool liquid with care and winced when she tried to crane her neck to look out of the window. “It's going to be a hassle getting in and out of the bed at the cottage.” He shook his head, took the half-empty bottle from her and emptied it himself before putting it aside. “We're headed for Gotham.” Upon the questions in her eyes, he tilted his head.

“Medical resources at the Manor are far better.” She slipped back under the covers with a harrumph. “Could have prepared a girl there.” A whiff of aftershave caught her nose as he leaned in. “Nothing prepares you for Alfred.” The kiss to her temple was soft before Bruce turned off the lights.

Once they touched down on a private airfield outside of Gotham, Natasha refused another Vicodin to be lucid enough for the upcoming encounter.

She gritted her teeth through the waves of pain and waited in the back of the cab while her lover wanted to prepare his surrogate father for her company. Despite Bruce's previous pep talk, she figured it was a challenge trying to explain why he was going to marry a former Soviet assassin who had lusted after taking and not sharing his life for the longest time.

At some point, Alfred Pennyworth stepped up closer to peek at the pale and drawn woman in the backseat. She gave a meek smile and started to scramble out of her confines. The elder Butler opened and held the door for her. There was a slightly teasing tug around his mouth.

“I would like to welcome you home at Wayne Manor, Madam, albeit on one condition: The prenup will include a no-shooting at both husband or property paragraph. Otherwise, do not worry. We will have you back to full strength in no time. Give your fiancee a hand, Master Wayne. The master bedroom is ready.” With that, Natasha was sentenced to strict bed rest, homemade broth, and medication to help her sleep and heal.

~

During her ongoing recuperation, Bruce managed to steal the ring from her one night. She immediately noticed it the next day to which a huge quarrel broke loose; one that involved loud Russian curse words. Like a true gentleman, Bruce took it all in stride and came back with it a week later, all cheap rhinestones now replaced with real natural black diamonds, thus upping the ring's value from $ 10 to at least $ 1,000.

Incensed at his audacity, Natasha wanted to smack him hard. She only refrained seeing she was still working on getting her full strength and stamina back, and also because a huge black eye would look all kinds of odd and ill-fitting in their wedding photo. “Why did you do that? You are truly beyond stupid!” He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned forward on his toes with a toothy grin.  
  
“We could wear matching shirts.” Upon seeing her deadly glower he was quick to make an elaborate gesture. “You'd get the one saying 'I'm with stupid' of course.” Her far-too-lightweight punch hit him in the stomach with no effect whatsoever. If anything, Bruce's smile became even more lenient. He held the door open for her as they entered the gym. “Speaking of which, Stark called. He sends his best wishes.”

Natasha stopped flexing her fingers into the weight lifting gloves. Surprise was written all over her face. “Have you told him?” Bruce shook his head. “No. He's been busy and shouldn't have time to poke his nose into stuff that's none of his business, but yet he did.” They separated for a little while to each go about their individual warm-up routine. Eventually, Natasha looked up from her spot on one of the adjustable benches.

After watching him move into a ridiculously hard and strenuous calisthenics routine that involved single arm handstand pushups and chin ups as well as all sorts of core exercises, she spoke her mind. “I want a classic wedding.” Bruce craned his neck to search her face from where he was hanging upside down on the multi-purpose rig, doing anti-gravity crunches. “Huh?” Natasha lowered the two 22-lbs dumbbells at her feet.

“With all that blood in your head, I expected a more clever reply.”  
  
She watched on as he did another impressive one-armed handstand on the rig to land back on his feet with next to no noise. “What level of classic are we talking? Church, doves, a carriage with white horses?” His mouth curled with amusement. Natasha rose to put the weights back. “That reminds me: Is public Bruce Wayne still going to be a nitwit?” He wiped his face and looked like he was actually pondering her question.

“The public doesn't know he's about to get married, so I have to give them something.”

She bent down to grab her water, giving him a generous view of her sports-bra cleavage. “It's a good thing I'll be keeping my last name. I don't want to be associated with that twit.” His mouth twitched as he watched her suckle on the bottle with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Taking both last names without a hyphen still makes you Mrs. Wayne, though.” The mouthpiece of the bottle came off her lips with a pop.

“Guess I'll just have to look at your bank account each day to cope with the pain.” Natasha found out just then how nimble Bruce Wayne was sans armor as he launched an impromptu attack on her person. She managed to dodge it, however, and they went into a short, fast-paced sequence of mixed martial arts until they ended up in the corner of the gym where Bruce's back hit the wall with a thud. She glowered at him.

“Stop letting me win, приду́рок.”

All he did was give a lazy smirk from underneath sweated bangs and hook a hand under her thigh to lift her leg and pull her hips flush against his. “I didn't. You've gotten a lot better over the past few weeks.” His breath was warm on her face. Her still clenched fist opened and her fingers began to run a trail along the sweat on his brow. “You only say that because you want me to blow you right here in the gym.”

His expression turned lewd. “Is it working?” She gave him one of her best, underwhelmed looks. “Hardly.” A defeated-sounding sigh. “Even if I tell you to go and spend a ridiculous amount on a dress I only ever get to see you in once?” She smirked and licked her lips. “Now we're getting somewhere.” Looking back, Natasha was indefinitely glad Alfred did not enter the gym for the ten minutes that followed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ты мой чертенок -my little imp/devil  
> Дорого́й - darling, love (literal translation: favorite, loved)  
> приду́рок - moron


	33. Chapter 33

Natalia Alianovna Romanova and Bruce Thomas Wayne tied the knot in a clandestine ceremony held at Wayne Manor, three weeks later. Her wedding dress turned out to be a shoulder-free, black lace opulence that made him do a double-take once she walked towards him. “You're so beautiful, it's frightening.” His underlying nervousness showed in the way he fingered the collar of his tuxedo. She gave a coy smile.

“Good thing you're not afraid.” Only a priest and Alfred Pennyworth as a witness were around when Bruce slipped a slim, black ring made of Tungsten on his bride's finger and repeated the words 'I do'. There was oven-roasted sirloin for dinner, followed by black velvet cake for dessert. Natasha took a second serving along into the master bedroom. “For later.” Bruce simply quirked an eyebrow and followed her up the stairs.

And there, cake soon to be forgotten, newlywed Natasha Wayne stripped to her husband's enraptured gaze to show him exactly why spending a little over $ 600 on scanty and naughty black lace had been an investment that more than paid off.

The small comm on Bruce's nightstand beeped a little before midnight. With a groan that was different from the previous ones, Natasha lifted her head to shoot it a dirty glare just as the tender ministrations between her legs came to a stop. “Your petty city doesn't even grant me a multiple-orgasm wedding night.” His tousled appearance appeared from under the blanket and he reached across her to grasp for the device.

“Maybe it's important.”

She pushed herself up on her elbows and regarded his profile in the bluish light from the small screen. “Isn't that the point? To alert you in case of something important?” Bruce did not look up. “There are some things I can leave to the police.” In an unconscious move, he ran a hand through his hair and over his mouth before its corners turned down. “No. I gotta go.”

With something between smolder and regret, he brushed her bare leg and slid off the mattress. “I'll be back for seconds in no time.” He was surprised to find her also standing up. “How about I come along to keep me entertained. Gotham's got a joint custody now that we're married.” She shushed his protest by putting a finger to his lips. His eyes flickered from her naked physique to the beeping comm and back.

A grim expression appeared on his face. “We have to speak about this.” He pulled back when she reached for his still present arousal with a smug smirk. “If talking helps with your hard-on, sure.” Bruce sidestepped her and went to pull a heavy drawer open. He tugged up some black seamless briefs and cast her a look. “I'm serious. You're not going on patrol with me, Tasha.”

Completely unashamed of her state of undress, she cocked her hip and put her arms akimbo. “Because you're afraid of my well-being?” Emotions like unquenched desire and growing annoyance warred on his face as he continued to get dressed. “Because I'm afraid of Gotham's well-being.” Natasha reached out and took a pressed, silken burgundy-colored dress shirt from his closet to slip into. “Meaning what?”

His eyes followed the way she fastened one pearl button in between her breasts and threw him a defiant look. Bruce swallowed with a frown.

“Meaning you stay here.”

~

As soon as Natasha was certain of his departure, she gave up on her petulant stance by the window and went to get dressed. She had refused to either kiss or tell him goodbye, and Bruce had left with a sinister aura that was going to be beneficial to whatever trouble he was about to encounter on Gotham's streets.

Standing amid her own, newly furbished dressing room, Natasha pressed a button to get the mobile rack to rotate until a distinctive clothes bag appeared in front of her. Pulling down the zipper, she inhaled the smell of Kevlar-lined leather and took the bag off the hook.

_'You didn't marry me for compliance, now did you.'_

During the time of her stay, Bruce had never voluntarily shown her his secret lair below the manor. It had taken her two wrong tries until she had uncovered the way to enter the cave without setting off any silent alarm. Looking at the dark and moist atmosphere, Natasha listened to the faint screeching of bats high above. Eventually, her eyes came to rest on a motorbike of sorts, with large, massive wheels and aerodynamic seating.

It reminded her faintly of those customized bikes Stark had provided the Avengers with, and she stepped closer to inspect the carbon-matte vessel.  
_'This should be fun.'  
_ She followed him down into the Narrows with the wind whipping in her hair and a manic grin on her face at the feel and sound of the bike.

About half an hour later, thanks to the built-in tracking system, she was just in time to see the unmistakable silhouette of the Batman handle the situation that involved five pitiful bank robbers with an air of superiority. Natasha brought her vehicle to a stop with an audible downshift just as the Dark Knight was done tying and gagging them up. That was when his tall and dark physique swung around and noticed her.

They stared at each other, and the cocky smile on her face wavered ever so slightly upon seeing the way his mouth turned even more grim than usual. “What the hell?” His question was a dangerous hiss. She leaned forward, one elbow on the fuel tank, and propped her chin up on a gloved fist. “My husband left on our wedding night, so I had to go find something equally hard and dangerous to ride.”

Her mock-seductive pout was met with stone-cold refusal. “Leave. Now. I am serious.” His commandeering attitude prompted her to give a bored shrug. “Or I might just go and take this baby for a spin while you're still busy.” With that, Natasha ignited the bike and whooshed past him, headed for Gotham's outer rims. Seconds later, dark, roaring sounds from behind indicated he was following her inside a tank-like vessel.

She maneuvered the bike through the Narrows' dirty streets with next to no damage; taking it on a wild ride up the stairs of a deserted tram station, and underneath a street barricade that was still oozing smoke from being set on fire. Police sirens began to wail through the night at some point, and so she raced back to the Palisades, enjoying and thriving on the adrenaline rush that came with weaving on winding roads.

The headlights of what Bruce had once referred to as the Tumbler were always close behind and made her apply even more throttle. Upon the final, long stretches of empty streets, the bike underneath her whined out loud as she sped on and entered the cave first. As soon as she had turned off the overheated engine, the Tumbler broke through the waterfall with a mighty jump and splash.

Triumphant at her victory, she was completely unprepared for the turn things then took. There was a flash of black and a gloved hand around her throat seconds later, almost lifting her off her feet. “Don't you ever disobey my orders again!” His growl was dark, like his eyes, and devoid of any human emotion. Natasha realized they both had just crossed a line from which there was no turning back.

 


	34. Chapter 34

Realization soon kicked in, and Bruce's eyes turned back to their normal, hazel color. There was a flicker of shock in them as he released her and stepped back to slip off the cowl. “That wasn't m... Tasha, listen - I..” He took the punch she delivered straight to his cheekbone without any sort of self-defense or complaint. “Заткнись, мудак, тебя не спрашивали!” Unfazed, Bruce reached out for her, but she evaded him.  
  
“Touch me again, and I'll kill you.”  
  
With that, she turned on her heel and left him behind, in his cave. Anger and a different kind of adrenaline than before flooded her veins as she stormed upstairs and headed for their quarters on the second floor. When her gaze landed on the untouched piece of wedding cake resting on the nightstand, her throat began to tighten. She still felt the hard carbon-Kevlar glove pressing into her skin.

A bout of anger made her swipe the innocent dessert off the table. It crashed to the floor, fine china breaking into a dozen pieces. She tore a couple of fresh clothes from her closets and left to seek refuge somewhere he would not follow her and try to bumble through an apology she did not want to hear. Wayne Manor was spacious enough to provide many alternative sleeping quarters other than the master bedroom.

Natasha intended to make good use of it.

_'Not tonight.'_

No, she did not want to speak. Not on a day that should have been full of love and happiness and instead had turned into a living nightmare. Sleep eluded her for a while as she lay, listening to a faint rumble of thunder in the distance. When the first few raindrops hit the window panes, Natasha eventually slipped into a light slumber. Her dreams included a gaping abyss and bats with fiery wings that soared through the air.

When the first birds could be heard singing outside, she blinked tired eyes up at an ancient Victorian ceiling that was unfamiliar to her. Part of her wondered when the cabin at the lake had changed so much until realization kicked in. It was 7 am when Natasha rose, drank water from the tab, used mouthwash, and changed into her running gear. Her eyes fell on her wedding ring and her fingers curled into a fist of their own accord.

A resolute tug later, she left it on the marble shelf of the guest bathroom mirror.

_'Not today either.'_

Outside, it was already getting light, although the sun was hidden behind solid gray clouds. Natasha's gaze wandered along the wide acres of land that belonged to the Wayne estate. Even after two months, she still kept on discovering new trails. With determination, she skipped down the stairs and walked past the big fountain towards the main gate. Up on the hill, under the big willow tree, she made out a silhouette.

Bruce stood at his parents' graves, head hung low. When he looked into her direction, she simply pressed her lips together and kept her gaze straight ahead. Gravel crunched under her shoes as she broke into a run, slow at first, taking deep and controlled breaths to get into an easy-to-sustain rhythm. Her eyes remained locked on a spot in the distance until the Manor and everything with it became smaller.

Strong, steady steps caught up with her at mile three, 15 minutes later. For a while, they kept on running side by side, wordless. Eventually, Bruce caved in. “Allow me to take you to dinner.” She ignored him and increased her stride ever so slightly. Part of her knew it was childish, seeing he and his stupid long legs could outrun her with ease. As expected, Bruce kept on holding up and regarded her profile. “Please.”

His voice sounded small and too breathless for the moderate pace they were running at. On the homestretch, she broke into a sprint before she stopped the time on her watch and began to stretch against the fountain. Bruce kept his distance. Natasha held on until the tight muscles in her calves eased up. When she graced him with a once over, she took in his black eye, his plain t-shirt and running shorts, and looked away again.

“I'll think about it.”

~

That evening, after steering clear of each other for the rest of the day, he took her to The Fox Gardens, a noble restaurant in one of Gotham's more posh districts. The shiner she had given him had been carefully camouflaged and made invisible, such as the faint bruising on her throat that was covered by a silken scarf. He wore a tailor-made suit in dark gray while Natasha was dressed in a slim, black bandeau dress.

The car he had chosen for the night was a vintage Jaguar E-Type Coupe in metallic black, but if he had hoped for any sort of reaction from his wife, he was mistaken. They rode in silence until they entered the city limit. At a red light, she finally broke it. “Take it off.” Bruce's head turned into her direction. “What do you mean?” Natasha kept her gaze out of the windshield. “Your ring.”

As if to prove her point, she reached up with her left hand and ran it through her hair, leaving him to see her bare finger. He scowled. “People will think you are my conquest du nuit.” She shrugged. “A label I'd prefer at this point.” At her acid retort, Bruce's whole demeanor shut down in less than two seconds. He said nothing and accelerated with force the second the light turned green.

They arrived at the restaurant, drawing attention to the classic sports car with its roaring exhaust. Bruce pulled the slim dark ring off his finger with a brisk move and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. He did not look at the woman by his side again as he got out and thrust the car keys at a valet boy. Another parking service staff member went and opened the door for her and Natasha thanked him with a dignified smile and nod.

She tugged the scarf tighter around her neck and walked on high heels and swinging hips over to where the door attendant opened the glass door to the restaurant for her. Bruce caught up with her just after she had entered the foyer, and the maître d' welcomed them both in an exalted fashion. Bruce played his suave, carefree playboy part well until they had been seated at a private table in the corner.

The waiter handed them the menu before lighting the candle between them and left them alone. Over soft violin music in the back, Bruce then leaned forward and made a move to clasp her hand. She withdrew hers, to which his eyes narrowed at her rejection. “I know I am scum.” Her eyes remained fixated on the small list of lavish-sounding entrees, therefore missing out on the misery in his.  
  
“Agreed.”  
  
Bruce inhaled loud enough for her to hear. “Alfred gave me hell.” Natasha turned a page, still not meeting his gaze. “Good.” With an almost inaudible sigh, Bruce leaned back in his chair. The fingers of his left hand began to drum on the flawless white tablecloth. “You have to give me at least something.” At that, her eyes blazed at him over the rim of the menu. “I don't have to give you anything, Bruce.”

The furrow between his brows increased. “Maybe this was not the best place to settle matters.” A supercilious smirk caused her red, glossy lips to curl. “Afraid your precious jet-set couples might think you've picked the wrong date for the night?” A muscle in Bruce's jaw twitched as he picked up his menu. “I don't give a damn what they think about me.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

“Good thing they don't know about your domestic tendencies, too.” Natasha's voice was flat on purpose. She saw how he wrung the leather-bound menu in a tight grip and put her own aside in favor of picking up her small purse. Nothing of real interest was inside, seeing it only held a lipstick and a couple of handkerchiefs, but it had the desired effect of ignoring him further.

“You could've said no and we didn't have to do this.” He now sounded aggravated. She gave a slow blink. “Maybe I didn't dare to refuse, seeing the consequences that might bring.” A deliberate hand came up to brush against her throat. His eyes narrowed. “Stop it, Tasha.” Something behind her then diverted his attention. A sudden, strained tug lay around his mouth. Bruce put the mangled menu aside and rose from the table.

“Excuse me for a second.”

She gave a small, almost bored incline of the head and clicked her purse shut again. After sipping on mineral water she watched an old guy and a far too young woman a few tables further north play footsie. With a disgusted curl of her lip, Natasha drummed her manicured red fingernails onto the desktop and waited. Ten long minutes later, she gave a look at the delicate watch around her wrist and frowned.

She told the approaching waiter to wait some more and also got up to head for the direction Bruce had left. At the far end of the aisle, she discovered a separate salon with milky glass panels in a mahogany door. An arousing scent seemed to linger in the air the closer she came. Natasha felt a strange kind of lightheartedness and exhaled with a long slow breath to calm her giddy nerves.

As soon as she had entered, however, all of her previous feelings evaporated and left her speechless.

The room was empty except for two people.

The table that had been set displayed fallen over glasses and askew napkins. An unknown female with a shapely, curvaceous body and long, red hair was straddling her husband. She wore an almost non-existent, shiny dress hiked up to her lap, and she pressed herself to the mellowed-out man underneath. Bruce's arms dangled limply on each side of the chair; several buttons of his shirt had already been undone.

Doorknob in hand, Natasha schooled her features into a blank mask.

“Am I interrupting something?”

With a giggle, the woman slid off him. It was then that Natasha noticed the strange, bright shade of green on her lips and eyes. They eyed each other, and something in the back of Black Widow's mind began to tingle with danger. “Oh, we're done here.” The woman looked back down at the quiet man in the chair. “It's been a pleasure, Mister Wayne.” Her luscious red tresses wafted behind as she left the salon, hips swinging.

Natasha's simmering anger resurfaced as soon as they were alone. “So this is how you want to redeem yourself?” No answer. It was then that she noticed his unusual, pale-green pallor. “Bruce...?” She choked up on her words and stepped closer. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. “P....pois'n. Get Alfr'd. Qui...” They rolled in the back of his head right before he slid out of the chair to crumble into a heap on the floor.  
  
Natasha's heart began to race.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Заткнись, мудак, тебя не спрашивали! - Shut the fuck up, asshole, I don’t care about your opinion!
> 
> Bruce's car is meant to be a 1970 Jaguar XKE 2 and should look like this:  
> https://www.classicargarage.com/en/archives/jaguar-e-type-4-2-litre-fhc-s2-1969
> 
> Also, there is a non-Nolanverse cameo involved, which can be considered artistic freedom ;)


	35. Chapter 35

“Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley, known as Poison Ivy. She studied advanced botanical biochemistry before she became insane after an experiment gone wrong. The toxin in her lips is lethal - a kiss of death if you will. Master Wayne must have tried to stop her before she could go berserk and harm innocent people in public.”

Alfred's voice was grave as he wrung the rag and placed it on Bruce's glistening forehead once again. After she had contacted the butler, he had arrived in a Bentley with tinted windows and helped wrestle Bruce's limp and heavy body onto the backseat. An anxious Natasha had then raced the Jaguar back to the Manor. She now looked down at the pale and feverish countenance of her husband; mind and soul riddled with guilt.

“Will he survive?”  
  
Alfred's weathered hands brushed over Bruce's neck to feel for a pulse. His countenance remained grave. “I have contacted Lucius Fox to create an antidote. Until he gets here, all that we can do is pray, Madam.” The butler looked at the jacket Natasha was still holding in her hands like a lifeline. Upon his gentle indications to take it from her, she reached into both pockets until she felt something small and metallic.

With the item secured in her palm, she handed the jacket over. Her fingers smelled of Acqua di Parma, Bruce's go-to cologne, and she took a steadying breath. “Let me take the first watch until he arrives.” Pennyworth nodded. “I will see to preparing all necessary arrangements.”

She kept on blaming herself as she remained at his bedside, cooling his burning face, arms and legs with cold rags and drawing the sheets higher when yet another wave of chills wormed through his whole body. Sometimes Bruce groaned, caught in the throes of fever, and Natasha would murmur soothing nothings. After a while, his movements became weaker, his respiration more shallow. Concerned, she leaned forward.

“Bruce, come on.” Her fingers pressed into the hollow of his neck, searching for a pulse. “Do not do this. Don't you dare to do this.” She kept her fingers close to the faint beating vein under his skin. _'We aren't destined to be happy. I don't know why.'_ Almost an hour passed until the bedroom door opened and a tall Afro-American man with white hair walked in, followed by Alfred.

Natasha watched them speak in hushed words as they took a blood sample from Bruce before Fox administered a small syringe filled with a light-pink fluid into his other arm. “Toxikinesis. The level of ricin in his bloodstream has reached a critical amount. I've given him an antidote that has worked on a similar accumulation, but a lot of time has passed since the point of infection. The next 12 hours will be crucial.”

Fox' deep baritone did nothing to ease any of Natasha's worries. “I have to run a few tests to determine if we need to add another dose.” Alfred stepped up to the other man and put a hand on his shoulder. “You can use the facilities on-site.” Fox nodded. While he went to work down in the cave, Natasha and Alfred took turns in watching Bruce's agitated form.

“What about the one who did this to him? She needs to be taken down.” Alfred cast the pacing woman a brief glance. “I believe Master Wayne would not encourage any involvement of your person, Madam.” Natasha looked at him. “I know someone who still owes Bruce and me a favor. He'll deal with her.” One more look at the deathly-pale man in the bed made her reach for her mobile and send a text.

Tony Stark's answer was instant and affirmative, and Natasha able to focus back on the task at hand. By now, inflammation had begun to settle in, and Bruce's dreams were plagued by horrid nightmares, scaring the people present with his desperate moans for help. Alfred seemed to take it the most composed, but Natasha very well saw the way his hands shook whenever he felt for his protege's burning skin.

When the butler walked out to replace the too warm rags and towels for the umpteenth time, she fought against the burning behind her eyelids and went to open the patio door. The sky was shrouded in clouds, with only a sliver of the waning crescent moon visible from afar. Natasha Wayne, nee Romanova dipped her chin to her chest and folded her hands in front of her lap.

_'I am not a religious person. I am by far no saint. But I would give my life if it means to save his.'_

Sounds from the bedside led her back inside.  
For the first time during the whole ordeal, Bruce had turned around in bed, curling himself up on one side, deep asleep.

~

Around 5 pm, the fever finally broke.

Alfred, Natasha, and Lucius Fox had taken turns in keeping vigil on their patient, sleeping only when necessary. From her spot on a chaise lounge in the back, Natasha blinked her surroundings into place upon hearing a male voice speak at a low volume. When she sat up, a woolen blanket she did not remember to get slipped to the floor. The movement made Lucius Fox turn around and give way to the sight of an awake Bruce.

His pillow had been elevated, and when their eyes met, Natasha felt like a weight had been lifted from her heart. Fox clasped his hands behind his back and regarded Bruce with a look of concerned scolding. “You were lucky the toxin was not meant as a fatal necrosis but as a severe mind-control substance. It's a wonder your body and mind managed to withstand its beguiling effects.”

Bruce gave a weak smile that was directed at the solemn face in the back.  
“Only one woman got me under her spell.”  
Natasha's cheeks flushed when Fox regarded her with new-found amusement.

“I see.”

Once the elder man left to take on the cup of tea and light snack Alfred Pennyworth had promised him, Natasha took his place by the bedside. She tried to ignore the dark circles under Bruce's eyes and his still far too ashen skin and cleared her throat. “That was...” A raspy chuckle interrupted her. “... stupid?” She snorted and busied her hands with pulling his blanket up higher. “No, mushy. But stupid applies, too.”

He swallowed and closed his eyes. “I love you. Forgive me.” At his whispered words, her motions stilled. “For what? For loving me?” A lopsided smirk appeared on his lips, even if his eyes remained shut. “Never. Never for that.” His voice was faint as he forced his eyes open with difficulty. “For hurting you.” Natasha did not know what to reply, so she said nothing. Bruce inhaled to gather enough strength to continue.

“The reason I was so angry... was her.” He swallowed and took a shuddering intake of breath. “Poison Ivy was already in town. I couldn't imagine what would've been worse – you being mistaken for her by the police, or you running into her on your own without any backup.” It took Natasha a while to digest the information. She ran her tongue over dry lips and inspected his bare fingers on the white sheets.

“Life keeps on testing us. In St. Petersburg, there was a moment when I thought I wouldn't be able to see or talk to you ever again.” She paused, staring at a spot on the blanket as if it held the right words. He blinked and gave a small nod to indicate for her to continue. “I know I am just as bad when it comes to making amends. I know it is a miracle we're both still here. Together. Which is how I want it to be.”

Natasha pulled the slim black ring from her pocket and slipped it to its rightful place on his left hand. “I love you. I love you for what you are. The light and the shadow.” For a while, Bruce only regarded their interlaced fingers. Then his expression turned soft. “Ah, I don't think I'll remember this tomorrow. You'll have to say it again. Preferably every day for the rest of our lives, just to make sure.”

With an amicable tug, Natasha freed her hand and poked a tender finger into his chest. “Do not push your luck, мой глупый маленький мышонок.” That elicited a small chuckle which turned into a quiet cough. Natasha forbid herself to show her concern until he had caught himself. “There's something I owe you.” She leaned in and slipped her palms flat in between her thighs to warm them.

“Besides fully consummating our marriage you mean?”

It brought a flush of much-needed color to his cheeks before he made an inviting sweep towards his nether regions. “I am not poisoned from the waist down.” His wife rolled her eyes. “And I'm not in the mood to catch some walking plant's STDs, so you'll have to wait some more until your blood tests come back all clean.” He sighed. “I owe you a honeymoon. Think about it and pick a destination.” Natasha pursed her lips. “Like what?”

Bruce squinted and reached up to scratch at a patch of a bearded cheek. “Preferably somewhere deserted, with a lot of sun and sea and no clothes required. I think I own an island somewhere in French Polynesia. Have to ask Alfred for the exact location, he knows.” Natasha freed her hands to groan into a palm. “Just when I think you're a halfway normal human being you go and say things like that.”

“Blame it on the poison.”

“Blame it on your inflated bank account.”

She leaned in to kiss him. Bruce's lips were warm and full of life. Natasha smiled against them.

“We'll need lots of quality sunscreen for all of those sensitive body parts of yours.”

  
_THE END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> мой глупый маленький мышонок - My little stupid bat [orginally: mouse]  
> (I was told it could also be мой глупый маленький летучий мышонок = flying mouse, which equals bat)
> 
> Bruce's deserted island:  
> http://www.vladi-private-islands.de/en/islands-for-sale/pacific-ocean/french-polynesia/motu-rauoro/
> 
> ~~~  
> Okay, uh. This is it I guess. Even though I don't really want to say goodbye to this pairing because it has grown on me SO MUCH. Still, I feel like everything has been said and done. Except for the part where they will continue to live (semi) happily ever after, and maybe kick some ass together at some point? Yeah, maybe that. The BatWidow ain't got time for no mushy-gushy traditional white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a dog, I reckon ;D
> 
> I want to thank everyone who has contributed to this fic from the bottom of my heart - be that the original prompt, the encouraging request(s) for an actual plot after the first three chapters, the dozens of amazing comments which kept me going, and the translation help from a wonderful person who might not be reading this story, but who is a gem. 
> 
> Thank you.


	36. ~Epilog~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes (okay, oftentimes) I go back to verses I hold dear, like the BatWidow one, for instance. There's this prompt that's been sitting in my 'To Do' folder for ages, and I finally had an idea where to finagle it into, albeit in a very modified version - and one which renders a good portion of CA: CW and its ending non-compliant. D'oh.
> 
> Oh well. In my defense, I just wanted to write some Bruce/Nat again. 
> 
> [source/credit, as well as the original prompt, can be found at the end]

Steve Rogers walked through the crowded ballroom, feeling stiff and uncomfortable in his dress shoes, tuxedo, and bow tie ensemble. Tony Stark had invited him to come along to one of his famous charity event galas, but if Steve was being honest with himself, he strongly suspected the billionaire just did not want to suffer through meaningless small talk and forced pleasantries alone.

After spending a good ten minutes talking to a retired tax advisor about life in New York, Steve spotted Natasha at a bar in the corner. Quick to excuse himself, he joined her side, earning himself an amused smirk at his exhale of relief. “Feeling out of your element?” Suppressing a groan, Steve grabbed a flute from the next best tray he spotted. “I don't know how Tony stands these things.” Her red lips twitched. “Years of practice.”

Steve nodded along and cast her an appraising once-over look. “You look marvelous by the way.” She was wearing a sleek black dress with matching long satin gloves and heels high enough to almost even out their usual difference in height. Natasha slid her small sequined clutch onto the bar. “Why thank you.” He squinted along the lines of guests in their black tie outfits. “If you need me to chaperone, just let me know.”

“Cute.”

Her sarcasm made him clear his throat. “No, I meant... Just look at all those guys salivating after you. Seeing you can't go and stab them to death with a cocktail umbrella, well,...” Natasha sipped from her martini and let her eyes wander across the room. “So then, status report, Captain. Where would you start?” Steve took a sip and pulled a face at the dry, sour taste of the champagne. “That Wayne, for instance.”

Natasha cocked her head to one side, examining the subject in question from afar. “Really? Is he watching?” At her piqued interest, Steve disposed of his flute. “He's such a spineless pushover. Must be all that inherited money.” Natasha leaned back against the bar. “Mhm. I find him very good looking, though.” Steve snorted. “Nat, you can do better. I've heard things about that guy you wouldn't believe. He's a...”

Her left eyebrow arched. “A what?” Steve paused, trying to find the right words. “A showboat with a questionable past and an IQ of a goldfish.” At that moment, the person in question caught their eye. Everything about the Gothamite screamed seductive smolder, and Steve frowned at the foxy look his teammate threw him in return. “Mark my words, Nat.” She hummed in affirmation; eyes never leaving her approaching target.

Bruce Wayne stopped in front of them, all dimpled-smiles and white teeth. “Pardon me for interrupting, but I really have to steal this gorgeous lady from you.” A look of sheer reluctance crossed Steve's features. He squared his shoulders and slipped into a well-practiced commandeering stance. “Nat, you don't have to if you don't want to.” His eyes turned hostile as they met the jovial expression of the other man. She sighed.  
  
“I know.”

Steve almost did a double take when the woman next to him then tilted her head upward to accept and melt into the fervent kiss the Gotham billionaire bestowed upon her lips. After what seemed like an eternity, Wayne eventually withdrew but kept his arm firmly trained around her slim waist. “I already told Stark we're leaving. The donations are made and a guy can only stand so much sycophantic company for one evening.”

His eyes twinkled as he looked at the blonde man by her side. “Isn't that right, Captain Rogers?” Too flabbergasted to reply, Steve only gave a slow nod. Natasha picked up her clutch from the bar and pecked his cheek. “See you tomorrow, Steve.” A small sound from the back of his throat erupted, sounding like a 'good night' of sorts. Bruce Wayne then steered his company outside, one hand hovering at the small of her back.

As soon as they stood in front of the posh venue and he had retrieved his car and keys from the valet, Bruce cast her an amused glance. “Looks like I didn't pass the test.” She pulled her left glove off with her teeth just as he reached into his pocket of his jacket. “No, you didn't.” After helping her into the seat, Bruce slipped in behind the wheel of his Aventador. His wedding ring glinted in the reflection from the streetlamps.

“Shame. Imagine if he knew the whole story.”  
Natasha Wayne slid the seat belt around her slender frame.  
“Now where's the fun in that?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt: 'Person B’s ex trying to warn Person A about B right in front of the both of them. After a very long explanation about B’s unsavory nature and questionable past, Person A just nonchalantly replies “I know.”and kisses B deeply.'
> 
> Source: http://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/127570259460/person-bs-ex-trying-to-warn-person-a-about-b


End file.
